


The Gilded Cage

by Apuzzlingprince



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Sex, BDSM, Caning, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Knifeplay, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-14 13:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11208981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: Edward has lost eight years of his life when he’s finally thawed. Oswald decides to fill the void with something new, something better.





	1. Part 1

The first thing Edward felt was _cold_. An all-encompassing cold that gnawed at every bone and sinew, a cold so pervasive that he hadn’t even the mobility to chatter his teeth. His every cell seemed entrenched in ice. He couldn’t think, feel, or see anything beyond the paralyzing cold. He only knew he wanted warmth, and he wanted it so badly.

An indeterminable length of time passed before he was able to move. He twitched stiff, numb fingers. He felt nothing but a slight pressure, but he was sure something was cracking beneath them, coming apart. He tried blinking next, forcing his stinging eyelids up, and then downs. These minute movements took a monumental amount of effort to enact.

At some point – he couldn’t say when, exactly, as his faculties were returning to him slowly and haltingly – he registered the ability to see, and spread out before him was a vast field of blue, sparkling and distorted. He saw a great white jagged tear straight through the middle, and slowly that jagged tear began to expand.

He found himself falling before he could process what was happening. Gargantuan chunks of ice slid across cement as he landed hard on his chest, shivering violently and scrabbling for purchase with stiff limbs, his lungs feeling as thought they’d been filled with water as he struggled to draw in frigid air between hacking coughs.

It was pain, now, that he felt. He felt simultaneously hot and cold, the shock of sensation reverberating through his body and searing at his nerves. He curled up tight in an attempt to stave off the agony, but his circulation was too sluggish for this to be an effective method of making himself warm.

 _I’m going to die_ was the first real, cognizant thought he had, and it was shortly followed by _good_ , because even death would have been preferable to experiencing this for a moment longer.

“Oh, great, there’s a mess,” he heard, distantly. “No, don’t grab the firebug for help. She’ll burn the place down. It’ll be miraculous that she’d manage it, but she will.”

“Is he alright?” a feminine voice asked.

Edward cracked open an eye, swiveling his body around to face the source of the noise. He blearily made out a man and a woman, one short and the other tall. The tall one stood out among the blue, their skin a radiant peach and their hair bright auburn. They looked _warm_.

 _Human bodies roughly radiate 250,000 J of energy per hour_ , his frazzled mind informed him.

With considerable effort, Edward pulled himself to his feet and sought to close the gap between them, reaching for her- but he didn’t manage to initiate any physical contact before the man was upon him and dragging him back to the floor. What little Ed felt of his skin was wonderfully warm, or perhaps Edward was just cold enough that everything felt warm.

He hadn’t the energy to resist when the man grasped him by the collar of his shirt and held him down, snarling in his face. He had half a mind to curl into him, snare some of the heat off his body, but even the chill wasn’t enough to prevent him from retracting from the violent manner with which the man addressed him.

“What do you think you’re _doing_?” the man asked, his voice as icy as Edward felt. “You wouldn’t be able to hurt her even if you weren’t completely incapacitated.”

“It’s alright, Pengy!” insisted the woman. “Look at him, he’s as weak as a wet kitten. I would’ve been fine.”

“I told you not to call me that,” snapped ‘Pengy’. He turned his attention back to Ed (much to Ed’s chagrin). “I asked you a question.”

“C-c-cold,” was all he managed to stammer in reply. His voice was so soft as to barely be audible.

“I don’t doubt it,” said Pengy, and with surprising strength, he proceeded to drag Edward upright.

Edward found it difficult to maintain his balance once on his feet, shaking as violently as he was. In an attempt to procure some warmth, he rubbed his hands up and down his arms in short jerking movements, his teeth chattering.

The auburn-haired lady stared at him.

“Get moving, Ed,” snapped Pengy. “I’ve prepared a bathroom for you. It’s nice and _chilly_.”

This man knew him, clearly, but Edward didn’t know them. How in the world had he gotten here? Had his peers pulled off some convoluted prank? He wouldn’t put it past them; it was only last week he’d woken up with his belongings glad-wrapped to every available surface.

“P-please, I’m sorry,” he tried, because he wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve such callous treatment, but clearly it must have been bad if the man wanted to subject him to additional cold. “Wh- whatever I did, I-I’m sorry. Pl-please. I’m so c-cold.”

Pengy had taken a step in preparation to march him to his destination, but he stopped upon hearing Edward’s words. “I beg your pardon?”

“I-I said I was sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean to m-mess up your floor, I don’t know h-how I got there.” He peered over his shoulder, at the ice scattered across the stage. They were big chunks of ice, much larger than he had initially thought. With his blood circulation gradually gaining momentum and his brain starting to work at a reasonable capacity, it occurred to him how odd it was that he had awoken in a block of ice.

Pengy drew his attention by stepping closer, so close that Edward felt his warm breath upon his chin.

“What are you playing at, Ed?” His grip on Ed’s collar tightened. “If you’re trying to deceive me, I won’t fall for it.”

“W-what? Why would I do that?”

“Ed, if you don’t drop this _right now_ , there’ll be a lot worse in store for you than a chilly bathroom.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” he cried, trying and failing to withdraw, the man’s fist keeping him firmly in place. “P-please, I’m just a kid, I didn’t mean to d-do anything!”

Pengy’s lips pressed into a thin line. After a moment, he turned to address the woman. “Ivy, fetch Fries for me.”

“Why?” asked Ivy, sliding her hands to her hips. “He’s probably just putting on a show.”

“I don’t know if he’s _this_ good of an actor.”

“I’m cold,” he whispered, and Pengy shot him a glare. He shut his mouth.

“Just get him, would you? Tell him I’ll be in the back room.”

The dragging resumed. Edward took stuttering steps across stone flooring. He surveyed his surroundings very briefly, taking in magnificent stone walls lit by overhead lamps and a generously stocked bar. Sitting just behind the centre stage he’d found himself upon, he saw a beautiful, intricately designed marble fountain.

Strangely, it didn’t have a statue like a traditional fountain. The stand instead ended in a smooth white pedestal. How odd.

Edward let himself be led only because he was too weak and too confused to consider protesting. They strode through a door, down a hallway, and turned into a lavish bedroom that must have been reserved for Pengy’s most esteemed of guests.

Pengy released him once through the door. Edward made a bee-line for the queen-sized bed, tugging off his sodden clothes and shunting off his hat and gloves (where had they come from?) as he pulled the cosy looking quilt around himself. He didn’t even care that he was stripping down in front of a stranger; the loss of dignity was a small price to pay to be able to combat his hypothermia. He continued to shiver within the warm folds of the quilt while Pengy watched him, his expression unreadable. He was staring. Edward doubled-checked that he was sufficiently covering his chest and crotch to make sure he didn’t have a _reason_ to stare.

Pengy made a slow approach. It was only now that Edward noticed he had a limp.

“Ed,” he said with surprising gentleness. “If this is a play, I’m giving you one more chance to be upfront about it. If you tell me now, I won’t hurt you.”

The menacing quality of his words made Edward’s gut plummet. He swallowed. Whoever this man was, he appeared to be a very dangerous individual, and somehow Edward had managed to secure a place on his shit-list. “T-the lady called you ‘Pengy’. Is your n-nickname Penguin because of the limp?”

Pengy’s expression visibly darkened. Edward scooted further up the bed, far enough that he would be able to slip free should the man lurch for him.

But he didn’t. He took a deep breath and pressed his fingers to his temples. “Penguin is my title, yes. But you _know_ that.”

“ _Now_ I do,” said Edward, coiling his arms around his knees. He had to periodically grind his molars to stop his teeth from chattering so he could speak. “Why… why are you so upset with me? What did I do?” A pause. “Are you sh-sure it was me? Whatever it was, my classmates are more likely to have done it.”

Penguin blinked slowly. “Your _classmates_?”

“C-Cassandra, Robert, D-Damian, Jonathan, Su-“

“Those names mean _nothing_ to me,” Penguin snapped. “I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

“I’m attending the Gotham University,” he informed Penguin. “I-it’s my first year.”

Penguin opened his mouth, and then closed it again, his brow furrowed. He strode over to the door and peered out into the hallway.

“Mister Penguin, will I be here long? I have class tomorrow morning.”

Penguin continued to watch the hallway.

“Please, Mister Penguin, I-I have work after class too, and I can’t afford to miss any shifts without at least calling in.”

Penguin ignored him. “Victor, finally! Get in here.”

Victor was the sort of name that made Edward think of horn-rimmed glasses and sweater vests, of tan slacks and greying hair.

That was not the man that came striding into the room.

There was just… _so much_ of him to notice that Edward didn’t blink for what must have been a full minute. He’d never seen hair that white, nor skin that pale. And the suit, it was as though someone had torn it straight from the pages of a sci-fi novel. The technology it utilized was visibly more advanced than anything Edward had ever encountered before.

He gaped stupidly while Victor and Penguin conversed.

“Look, he’s acting like he doesn’t remember anything,” he heard Penguin mutter. “It’s probably a trick, but I want to be sure: can being frozen cause brain damage?”

“It’s entirely possible, given that he wasn’t frozen or thawed in a controlled environment,” the man replied, his words rough and clipped.

“ _How_ possible?”

“Thirty percent.”

“That’s higher than I expected.”

Victor cast Edward a glance. “If you wanted to lower the percentage, it would have been better to keep him still during the freezing.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it.” Penguin followed Victor’s line of sight and joined him in watching Edward. Edward self-consciously pulled a pillow into his lap to ensure what little of his dignity had survived the earlier humiliation would remain intact.

“You’re a doctor: do you have any tests you could perform to check?”

“In this location? No.”

“What location, then?”

“A hospital with an available CT scanner.”

“Well, that’s out of the question.” Penguin threw up his hands in exasperation. “Great. Thank you, Victor: _very_ helpful.”

“Glad to be of service,” said Victor dryly. He left before Penguin could dismiss him, and Penguin scowled at his retreating back until he was out of sight. When he was no longer an available target for Penguin’s ire, Penguin turned back to Edward.

Edward very much wished to disappear beneath the folds of the blanket as Penguin glowered at him.

All he did, however, was withdraw a flip phone from his pocket and violently jab in a number. It was only a few seconds before he received an answer.

“Zsasz, you’re needed at the lounge. I’m in the first guest room.”

Zsasz? What a strange name.

“Just leave them. The clean-up crew can deal with it.”

While Penguin was busy speaking, Edward crawled his way over to the corner closest to the bedside table and drew the drawer back, feeling through the contents for something to wear.

There was nothing, just a few dog-eared paperbacks and one of those complimentary soap bars that always smelt vaguely of mint. He pushed the drawer back into place.

“Ten? No, be here in _five_. I want this dealt with _now_. He’s a liability while I don’t know what’s going on.”

A few beats of silence.

“Don’t bring the pliers. It’s unlikely you’ll need them. His pain threshold is pathetic.”

The phone snapped shut. Edward ceased scouring the bedroom for a fresh set of clothes.

“Mister Penguin,” he began tentatively. Penguin arched an eyebrow in question. “May I borrow some clothes? M-my other ones are wet.”

“There aren’t any clothes in here,” Penguin replied. “It’s a guest room. You’ll just have to wait.”

“But I’m _naked_.”

“How unfortunate for you,” said Penguin with a toothy grin. “I’ll have these thrown in a dryer once Zsasz gets here. Until then, you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Edward rubbed his naked legs together, trying to produce some warming friction. He knew ones thighs were among the warmest parts of one’s body. “Can’t you just tell me what I did? I’ll pay it off!”

Penguin snorted. “It’s not something that can be ‘paid off’. It’s a…” He tongued his bottom lip. “Lifelong debt.”

Goosebumps rose on Edward's arms. The implications were quite clear. “Wh-what are you going to do to me?”

“Lifelong implies you will be _alive_.” Penguin folded his hands behind his back, smiling. “In some capacity, in any case.”

“What did I do?” asked Edward, growing desperate. If he knew what it was, he could at least try to fix it. There had to be something he could do, something this man would want. Nothing was beyond him.

“I doesn’t matter. I just told you it can’t be paid off.”

“You haven’t given me the opportunity to offer anything!”

Penguin appeared curious. That was promising. “Go on, then. What’s your offer?”

“I’ll work for you,” suggested Edward. This place appeared to be a bar, so… “I can cook, and I can learn to mix drinks. I’m good at cleaning, too, if that’s something you would want. And I-“

“Stop.” Penguin raised a hand to prevent Edward from interrupting. “I already have cooks, cleaners, and bartenders. There are no job openings for you to fill.” He returned his hands to his back, regarding Edward curiously. Though there was nothing preventing Edward from speaking, he remained silent, allowing Penguin to continue. “You know, I’m still not _entirely_ convinced this isn’t an act, but you’re doing very well if it is. If it isn’t, well… these things are usually temporary, aren’t they?”

“These things?” he asked. “I don’t understand.” He was usually very good at following conversation, but his extended stay in an ice cube was hindering his ability to process information. Everything was coming to him slowly, sluggishly, like poring a viscous liquid through a funnel.

Penguin gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Should Zsasz find you are telling the truth, that will be explained.”

Footsteps pounded up the hallway.

“Speak of the devil.”

‘Devil’ was an apt way to describe the man that entered the room. Edward wasn’t one to judge character based on looks, but his gaunt, pale face, bald head, and dark eyes did not give the impression of someone who was kind. His outfit consisting only of black clothing made Edward think of someone who didn’t want to have to wash bloodstains out of their clothes… but perhaps he was jumping to conclusions. It was easy to think the worst of people when a student of law-based forensic science.

“Hey, sleeping beauty’s wake.” Zsasz offered him a smile. Awkwardly, he returned it. “Good to see you, Ed.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Penguin had just been trying to scare him with that ‘pain threshold’ comment.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied quickly. “You too.”

Zsasz chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You don’t know why I’m here yet.”

Edward’s breaths fell shallow and thin. He nervously descended deeper into the quilt, coiling his limbs close to himself. He was still cold and shivering, but less so now that his skin was dry.

“He’s naked, by the way,” said Penguin, stepping further into the room to scoop up Ed’s sodden clothes. He held them at arm’s length with a grimace. They had left a wet patch on the plush blue carpet. “These should be dry by the time you’re done. Just leave him in the bathroom. I’ll have a waitress let him out in an hour.”

“Got it.”

Penguin left the room.

Edward sorely wished he had something to make himself decent with. He’d had a hard enough time getting undressed for gym in high school, and this was considerably less socially acceptable. He considered fashioning some underwear out of a pillowcase, but he was sure the result would be more embarrassing than simply being nude.

The door shut with a click loud enough to elicit a flinch from Edward. When Zsasz started to advance, he scrambled into a corner of the bed, careful not to go careening over the edge of the mattress.

Zsasz came to a stop at the foot of the bed. “Come on, Ed. Don’t make this more embarrassing for you than it has to be.” He curled a finger in a come hither gesture. “The sooner you get over here, the sooner it’ll be over.”

“What’ll be over?” He regarded Zsasz’s hand with trepidation. “What’re you going to do?”

“Since we have history, I’ll be honest with you.” Zsasz started to circle around the bed, and Edward quickly scrambled for the opposite side. “I’m going to break a few fingers and fiddle around with them for a while. It’s simple, but effective.” The nonchalant way he spoke of torturing Ed make him feel faintly ill. He curled his fingers into fists, there mere prospect of having them broken enough to trigger a phantom ache.

Edward was certainly no stranger to pain; he had his father and childhood bullies to thank for that, but he held no delusions that he would be able remain stoic during torture.

“I’ve been told not to do it if at any point you admit this is a ploy,” Zsasz continued. “So if you don’t want broken fingers, there’s your out.”

“But it isn’t a ploy!” he cried, jolting back when Zsasz reached out to grab him. He threw his quaking legs over the side of the bed in preparation to go flying for the exit. “I didn’t do anything!” he added as he stumbled for liberty. “I’m innocent!” He heard Zsasz laugh sardonically at that.

He only managed to get half-way to his destination before a foot on the end of his quilt sent him sprawling to the floor. To maintain some degree of dignity, his immediate response was not to check the rug-burn on his palms and knees, nor rub away the sharp pain in his chest, but to grasp handfuls of quilt and make sure his privates were covered.  Disregarding his nudity, Zsasz sat down on top of him, straddling him and effectively pinning him to the floor. In one last desperate attempt to prevent the inevitable, he shoved his hands beneath his thighs.

Zsasz’s brow arched. He didn’t have eyebrows to arch, so it was merely the skin that ascended. “I feel like I’m chastising a kid.” He clicked his tongue. “Come on, get them up here. I don’t want to have to go digging.”

Edward’s cheeks warmed. “Co-couldn’t we work something out? Whatever he’s paying you, I- I can match it.” _Eventually_.

“Yeah, no. Not going to happen.” Without preamble, Zsasz proceeded to stick his fingers beneath the quilt and go groping around for Ed’s hand. Edward might have wondered how many times he’d had to manhandle a naked person if he hadn’t been so alarmed. He immediately extracted his hands and tried instead to push Zsasz off of him, managing to send a half-hearted fist into his cheek. Zsasz merely grunted at the slight impact and coiled his fingers around Edward’s wrist, slapping a handcuff around it. When he’d grabbed those handcuffs, Edward didn’t know; he’d been too distressed to focus on what exactly Zsasz was doing. The other cuff ended up around his ankle, rendering him helpless to stop Zsasz from pushing him onto his side and seizing his free hand.

“Please don’t,” he pleaded, turning his face away so he wouldn’t have to watch his assailant forcefully unfurl his fingers.

“You ready to give up the trick?”

“It’s not a trick!”

“Sorry then, Ed.” Zsasz grasped his pointer finger at the base. “I like you, I really do; you’re an alright guy, but Oswald is my employer and he’s been good to me.”

A crack sounded, and Edward screamed.

 

* * *

 

 

“He isn’t lying. He thinks he’s a twenty year old university student. Told me he was doing a Forensic and Analytical Science course and working towards a PhD.”

This wasn’t the news Oswald had been hoping for, nor was it what he’d _expected_ to hear. He’d considered Edward’s peculiar behaviour and come to the conclusion it was an act put on to deceive him into letting down his guard. Evidently, he’d been wrong. He knew Zsasz wouldn’t lie to him.

He reached across his desk for his trusty whiskey bottle and drinking glass. He poured himself a generous amount of the slick, brown concoction and gulped it down in one go.

Instantly his cheeks turned a bright pink, the whiskey scorching its way down his throat and into his belly. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant sensation. He quite liked the momentary rush of heat it provided.

“So he doesn’t remember anything?” asked Oswald, placing his empty glass aside. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” Zsasz confirmed.

“Alright.” He breathed a sigh. “What exactly did you do to him? Will I need to grab the first aid kit?”

“Yeah, I broke a few fingers. Put them right after, but they’ll need taping together.”

“Just the tape, then.” He reached into his drawer for the first aid kit stored there. He liked to keep one close at hand at all times, prone to injury as he was. “Continue pursuing payments. It’s unlikely I’ll need you again today.”

“Got it.” And Zsasz simply left. He was always so obedient. Oswald liked that about him.

After extracting the tape from the first aid kit, Oswald returned to the room he had left Edward in. By now, the man must have made himself decent. He’d sent a waitress down with clothes just prior to Zsasz’s arrival.

Standing at the door to the bathroom, Oswald could just about hear soft, breathy whimpers from inside. He lingered for a moment to listen.

What a lovely, _satisfying_ sound it was. It would have been even more so were he dealing with The Riddler and not an Edward Nygma that believed himself a twenty year old university student, but this was enough for the interim.  

He pushed the chair Zsasz had shoved up under the door knob out of the way and entered. Edward looked up at him from the floor, his damaged hand cradled to his chest. His naked chest. He’d managed to dress himself from the bottom down, but evidently the task of doing up buttons had been beyond him.

Oswald came to kneel at his side. Edward flinched when he did, attempting to put some distance between them by sliding across the tiles.

“I’m not going to do anything to you, Ed.” Oswald held up the tape. “I brought this to tape those fingers together with. You can’t leave them like they are. They won’t heal properly.”

“They wouldn’t need to heal if you hadn’t had that man break them,” whimpered Edward.

Oswald shrugged. “Believe me, Ed: the alternative would have been worse.” He extended a hand to Edward, palm up. “You won’t be able to do it yourself.”

Edward eyed his hand with considerable distrust. “Why would you help me after having me tortured?”

“It was a few broken fingers. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“He moved them around,” said Edward, looking faintly ill. “It was torture.”

“Let’s not argue semantics. Just let me fix those fingers.”

“But why would you help me?” Edward persisted. “Answer me, then I’ll do it.”

“You’re being rather petulant for someone in your position.” Oswald wiggled his fingers to encourage Edward forward. The boy didn’t move. “ _Fine_. I’m going to be keeping you around, and you aren’t useful to me like this.”

“But what about my studies and work?” Ed asked quietly.

Oswald rolled his eyes. The sooner he informed Ed of his history, the better. “Believe me, you don’t have to worry about those.” He scooted closer, tearing off a piece of tape to assure Edward he wasn’t going to further harm him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Edward finally relinquished his damaged hand. Oswald did exactly what he said he’d do and simply taped the broken fingers together. It would have been easy to continue the torture… but there was little pleasure to be found in harming someone who didn’t know _why_ they were being harmed.

Besides, Ed looked pathetic like this, all wide-eyed and shivering in his grasp. He would have been about as effective at fighting Oswald off as a toddler.

Once finished with the fingers, Oswald reached over to drag Edward’s shirt up his shoulders and start on the buttons. Edward was too slow to evade him. He froze while Oswald’s worked, scarcely releasing a breath until Oswald had finished and withdrawn.

Edward skin was impeccably cold. He made a mental reminder to inform Edward of how to work the heating system at some point.

“What will I be doing?” asked Edward.

A few beats of silence passed before Oswald answered. “Office work,” he decided, because it was hard to get ones hands on paper pushes in the narrows. “You’ll be supervised by Zsasz when he’s available, and Ivy when he isn’t.”

Edward shuddered at the mention of Zsasz.

“Is that the girl who called you ‘Pengy’?” he asked.

A scowl twisted on his lips. Edward leaned away in apparent distress. “That’s her, yes. But _Penguin_ is my name.”

“Zsasz called you ‘Oswald’.”

“To you, it’s Penguin. Or _sir_ , if that doesn’t suit.” Oswald actually quite liked the sound of ‘sir’. It was an honorific not often extended to him, but one he had often extended to other people in times of desperation. “On second thought, ‘sir’ will do.”

“Okay,” said Edward, and Oswald looked at him expectantly. “Sir,” he added.

There were few moments of pure pleasure in one’s life, and this was one of them.

Slowly but surely, his initial disappointment was making way for the realization Edward was now a blank slate he could mold to his liking. He could chip away the parts he didn’t like and keep the parts he did. Edward could be an asset to his business, just like he had once been an asset to Mayor Cobblepot. The only thing he had to worry about was the potential for Edward’s memories to return. Otherwise, he didn’t expect keeping a leash on Ed would be terribly difficult in his current state.

He rose to his feet, and Edward followed him.

“Come. I’m going to explain your situation to you.”

He kept a hand in his pocket, around the handle of his gun, as he turned and left the room. This precaution ended up being unnecessary, as Edward made no move to escape throughout the trip to his office.

He instructed Ed to take a seat and called for Ivy, who came dashing up the hall within minutes with a fern clutched to her bosom. She had been assigned the task of growing them for the front of the Iceberg Lounge. Infuriatingly, she would go carting the dirty pots around the lounge despite Oswald having requested she leave them outside at least a dozen times by now. Her antics made the cleaners jobs almost impossible to do within the time they were allotted.

“Ivy, I’ve told you time and time again to stop carrying those around! You get dirt everywhere.”

“Sorry,” said Ivy, holding the pot closer to herself. “This one is really small. It’ll wither if I leave it outside in the elements.”

“Then put it in your room instead of carrying it around my place of business!”

“Fine, fine, I will.”

“You say that every time.”

“But I will! I promise!”

Oswald dropped himself into his chair and eyed his whiskey, wondering if he could get away with downing a glass without Ivy accusing him of ‘turning into an alcoholic’.

Probably not. Ivy would take it as an opportunity to turn the subject on him.

“We’ll continue this chat later, Ivy.” He gestured to Edward, who had twisted around in his seat to stare at Ivy. He was looking at her with _interest_. Whether it was innocent or romantic interest, Oswald didn’t know, but his mood abruptly plummeted regardless.

Kristen’s hair had been red, too.

“Ivy, you can return to work,” he said coolly.

“Huh?” Ivy frowned at him. “Why’d you call me down here, then? I was doing stuff, you know! Stuff _you_ asked me to do!”

“Just leave, Ivy, and call Ignatius down while you’re at it.”

“That kid? Why?”

“That hardly matters,” said Oswald, his patience wearing thin. There were times he wondered why he kept Ivy around. For someone in their early twenties, she acted _incredibly_ immature. “Make sure he brings a gun,” he added as an afterthought. “A pistol will suffice for this job.”

Ivy huffed and made her departure, stomping her way out of the room with her fern held close. Only once she was out of sight did Oswald notice the scattering of dirt she had left on his carpet.

Fantastic. Now he’d have to call the cleaners away from their current task to vacuum his office.

He reached for his bottle of whiskey. Just a trickle would do. He was already feeling the buzz from his earlier glass.

Edward watched him swallow the amber liquid without comment. At least _one_ of the people in his lounge knew when to keep their mouth shut.

“Forget what I said about Ivy keeping an eye on you. I’m bringing in one of my underlings instead.”

“She isn’t an underling?”

He thought for a little while. “More of a partner,” he admitted. “An incredibly annoying, immature one, but a partner nonetheless.”

Edward’s pink tongue darted and to swipe across his lips. “Why would you need someone to keep an eye on me? I’m not exactly, uhm… physically adept.”

“You’re intelligent,” said Oswald. He wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. It was Edward’s compulsion and arrogance that had been his downfall. His intelligence remained impeccable and could lead to Oswald ruination, _again_ , if he wasn’t careful.

A touch of pride curled at the edge of Edward’s lips. “Well, yes. But I wouldn’t use that against you.”

“You already have used it again me,” Oswald informed him. “You had a brief stint as a ‘villain’; your words, not mine. You’ve merely forgotten it. An unfortunate side-effect of being cryogenically preserved for an elongated period.”

Edward balked, clearly disbelieving. “We don’t have the technology to reanimate cryogenically preserved bodies! If that were true, I would be _dead_!” A pause, and he quickly added, “Sir.”

“All it takes is one talented mind to achieve the impossible, Ed. You should know that.”

“But there are research papers on this very subject,” said Edward. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“What do I have to gain from lying to you?”

“Maybe you’re trying to trick me into working for you.”

“You would be doing that either way.”

“This is… this is so…” Edward shook his head. “I was in my uni dorm just _yesterday_. That can’t be true.”

It was clear Edward wasn’t going to believe him without evidence. Fair enough; Oswald would have had a hard time believing such a bizarre story too.

Fortunately, Oswald possessed a great number of newspaper clippings that mentioned Edward, and in commemoration of Oswald’s victory over the man, he even had a small selection that featured The Riddler’s exploits. They were in his desk somewhere. The bottom drawer, he was sure…

It took several minutes of groping through books and pens and paperclips, but he eventually located the scrap book he’d haphazardly pasted evidence of his exploits into. He had two of these, this one having been filled some months prior. He peeled it open and flicked through to the page containing a news article that covered a bank robbery by The Riddler. Though the photograph used wasn’t of the best quality, having come from a security camera, the figure shown was undeniably Edward Nygma. Irrefutable evidence that Oswald was telling the truth.

Edward stared down at it in shock.

“I… I robbed a bank? I really robbed a bank?”

“You certainly did,” said Oswald, amused. “It was a fortunate thing I put you down. You could have caused quite a bit of trouble for this city.”

“But why would I do something like that?” asked Edward, clutching the strip of newspaper tight in shaking hands. “The job I want is in law enforcement. I want to solve crimes and help people. Why would I do this?”

“Insanity,” said Oswald simply. “You lost your mind and started attacking everyone, including myself. We had been very close, prior to that.”

Edward’s bottom lip quivered. He looked terribly lost. “Will I do it again? Am I going to lose my mind again? What’s wrong with me?”

“Now, now, don’t fret.” He took one of Edward’s hands into his own, the undamaged one, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. It shook in his grasp. “I have no intention of letting that happen.” He spoke softly, soothingly, and was pleased when Edward responded by perceptibly relaxing.

“Thank you.” The boy’s throat bobbed and his eyelashes fluttered. “You seem like a good man. I’m sorry to have caused you so much trouble, sir.”

“It’s quite alright, Ed. You have a lifetime to make it up to me.”

“And I will,” Edward promised.

“Of course you will,” replied Oswald. “Because if you don’t, I’ll be having you frozen again. Either way, you’ll be out of trouble.”

Though it very much looked like Edward wanted to reply, a knock interrupted their conversation. Oswald raised his gaze to the door, where he found Ignatius waiting to be permitted entrance. Even at the tender age of nineteen, the boy had a formidable build and height and an incredible aptitude with firearms. He would be a great asset to Oswald’s empire, one day. But for now, he was to be delegated the job of _babysitter_.

Oswald plucked the newspaper clipping out of Edward’s shaking fingers and returned it to its page. He stowed his scrap book back in the bottom drawer.

“Ignatius, this is your new best friend, Edward Nygma.”

The boy took a few tentative steps into the room. His palm rested on the butt of his pistol.

“I thought he was the centerpiece for the lounge?”

“Things have changed,” said Oswald dismissively. “When Zsasz is busy, I’d like you to keep an eye on him, Ignatius. Make sure he doesn’t get up to any trouble.”

“Of course, Mr. Cobblepot. I won’t let him out of my sight.”

“That’a boy.” Oswald motioned for Edward to join his new companion. Edward obediently stood out of his chair. “Take him to the office downstairs,” continued Oswald. “Abigail should be able to show him the ropes. Oh, and let Abigail know she’s working part time now.”

“Will do, Mr. Cobblepot.”

The two of them left the room, Edward tailed by his new warden.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update, because I got a comment that suggests some people have gone into this without reading the warnings in the tags: there is some heavy NSFW content. Blowjobs, anal, caning, etc, and it can get pretty explicit. While Ed consents to everything that happens, keep in mind that he has amnesia and Oswald is manipulating the situation. That's why I have a dub-con tag. If that sort of thing is triggering for you, please don't read this fic!

Unsurprisingly, Edward was as good a worker as he had been the last time he’d been under Oswald’s employ, even with those broken fingers hindering his pace. He did twice the work of Oswald’s other clerics in half the time. Within a scant few weeks, Edward’s labour had brought Oswald’s business to peak function and profit, and he knew this because Edward had gone through the effort of drawing up _diagrams_ for him. It was incredible what a mind like Edward’s could achieve when it wasn’t distracted by fanciful things like playing the role of a riddle-touting villain.

But no matter how pleased Oswald was with Edward’s work, he was careful not to let it lull him into a false sense of security. He knew there was always a chance Edward would get ambitious or regain his thirst for Oswald’s blood, and he had to be on guard so he could combat such efforts.

His paranoia drove him to request weekly updates on Edward from Zsasz and Ignatius, though it wasn’t strictly necessary with how often he watched Edward in his security feed. He just liked to reassure himself that he hadn’t _missed_ anything.

“How has Ed’s behaviour been lately?” was generally what he would ask.

Zsasz was currently sitting on the opposite side of his limousine, peering out a tinted window. He liked to remain close to one for security reasons.

“Other than him being a chatterbox? There’s not much to say.”

“So there’s no signs of his amnesia regressing?”

“Nope. Not a thing.”

“Good.” Oswald’s relief was almost palpable. He always managed to work himself up into thinking something was wrong.

For the sake of his sanity, he would have speak to Fries soon. Perhaps a study could be done on Edward’s brain and something found to ensure Edward remained docile and compliant. Fries was a talented man; he was sure something could be found, even if it wasn’t his area of expertise.

 

* * *

 

What little free time Oswald had, he used to keep an eye on Edward. At first he tried to be discreet and apathetic about it, convince himself there was nothing to it beyond the practical. He even utilized the security room instead of observing Edward in person in an attempt to convince himself of his disinterest.

It didn’t work.

One of the things Oswald had always liked about Edward was how diligently he worked on his assigned tasks, and watching him work day in, day out inevitably reminded Oswald of happier times. He tried to summon to mind all the reasons he loathed Edward, the ones irrevocably tied to his incredible intellect, but it wasn’t quite enough to smother his appreciation completely.

It had started out as a means soothing his paranoia. Watching Edward toil for him reassured him nothing amiss was taking place. He would pour himself a glass of whiskey and take sips as he observed, paying particular attention to the way Edward licked his lips and chewed on the end of his pen while doing intellectually strenuous tasks.

This soon developed into him visiting the security office on whim, often during working hours, simply to see what Edward was doing. There was still a great deal of reassurance in watching Edward work diligently for his former archenemy, but he was well aware now that paranoia was far from the only reason for his fixation. This became especially noticeable when he started watching with rapt attention as Edward did mundane things like fetch something to drink from the water cooler or toss a crumpled up piece of paper into a bin like a basketball player.

His obsession wasn’t prompted by love, Oswald was confident in that. He had been very thorough in discarding that particular weakness. It was born of something considerably more primitive. After all, Edward was still the man he had once taken every opportunity to touch, a man he had held close, whose warmth he had reveled in, whose shoulder he had kissed, whose back he had stroked and knee he had squeezed. Back when they had been partners, Oswald had spent many a night imagining what it would be like to kiss those soft, pink lips and watch his ministrations spread warmth through Edward’s fair complexion.

Those fantasies were from a different time, drawing upon different desires. Love, warmth, intimacy, reciprocation; the sort of things completely incongruous with Oswald’s usual predilections, and now that part of him was gone.

He didn’t want Edward’s love anymore, or anything that could be interpreted as such. He wanted Ed on his knees. He wanted him disheveled, pink-faced, and begging. He wanted to see him stretched wide open for Oswald’s use.

And he was in the fortuitous position to get exactly that.

 

* * *

 

Edward appeared nervous as he entered Oswald’s office, fidgeting his hands and taking an unusual amount of interest in Oswald’s carpet. The formal way he had requested Edward presence seemed to have led him to believe he had done something wrong. Oswald had half a mind to tell him he had, just to see what Edward would do, but dismissed that idea before it could make the transition from thought to action.

“Don’t sit down,” he told Edward when Edward reached for a chair. He immediately withdrew.

The boy’s hands trembled, perhaps remembering what happened the last time Oswald was mad. He had a very low pain threshold indeed.

“Mr. Penguin, sir, whatever I did wrong-“

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “In fact, I could not be happier with your work. You’re doing a stupendous job.”

“Oh!” The tense line of Edward’s shoulders dropped. “Thank you.”

“No, Edward. Thank _you_. You’ve been so good these past few weeks.” Oswald slid his chair back, just enough to uncover his thighs. “Actually, there’s something else I wanted to ask of you.”

“Anything, Mr. Penguin,” said Edward eagerly.

Oswald bared his teeth in a grin. He rather liked this new Edward, so eager to please. He wondered if Edward would have done this for him back when he had been his Chief of Staff.

Probably not.

He got the feeling Edward wouldn’t have been receptive to the idea of putting another man’s cock in his mouth.

“Stand in front of me,” he instructed, and Edward didn’t hesitate to oblige. He stood before Oswald with his hands folded behind his back, waiting expectantly for further instructions.

Oswald’s heart fluttered like an overexcited bird. They hadn’t even started and he was already aroused.

“Kneel,” he said simply.

This request gave Edward pause. Incredibly, he asked, “Is your leg hurting? Do you want me to massage it?”

Oswald laughed. The naivety was very sweet. “Thank you for your concern, but no. It’s fine.”

“Then why…” Edward mouth abruptly closed. His face coloured right up to the tips of his ears.

“Seems like you’ve figured it out,” said Oswald. He deftly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, reaching beneath his briefs waistband for his flaccid cock. Edward continued to stand while he stroked it into hardness, seemingly transfixed by the sight. It was unlikely the man had ever seen a cock that wasn’t his own. “I gave you an order, Ed,” he reminded the man. “On your knees.”

“B-but I don’t know how to do that. I’ll be bad at it. I'll disappoint you.”

“You put it in your mouth. It’s not exactly rocket science, and I believe you could _do_ rocket science.”

“But I’m a man,” Edward offered feebly.

“I’m well aware.” Oswald spread his knees, sliding his palms over his spread thighs. “You’ll want to hurry it up. Zsasz is due to return soon, and you don’t want him to return to you on your knees, do you? That would be terribly embarrassing for both of us.”

That, it seemed, was enough to prompt Edward to obey. He slowly sunk to his knees between Oswald’s open legs, enabling Oswald to tangle his fingers into his coarse brown hair and draw him closer.

As Edward parted his lips and gave tentative kitten licks at the leathery head of his cock, he stared down at him without blinking, hoping to burn the sight into his mind’s eye. He’d never seen something so _perfect_.

“You’re beautiful. You know that, Ed? You’re so beautiful.”

Edward didn’t say anything, though his cheeks did flush with pride.

Oswald trailed his fingers from one end of Edward’s pink lips to the other. He prodded past flesh and stroked over incisors, wrenching Edward mouth open with a knuckle. Edward started breathing through his nose as Oswald pressed his cock into that velvet heat, gliding over a soft tongue until he was sure Edward had tasted the entire underside of his shaft. Tightening his grip on Edward’s hair, he encouraged him back and forth slowly, rolling his hips in tandem with Edward’s bobbing.

While thrusting languidly into Edward’s mouth, he stroked at the fine hairs on the back of Edward’s neck as a means of praise. Edward, for his part, merely knelt and allowed Oswald to do as he pleased. He didn’t even protest beyond a whimper when Oswald’s cock hit the back of his throat.

Not once did Oswald’s look away, savouring the sight of Edward swallowing the girth of his cock and the saliva that dribbled down the edge of his mouth and the wetness that rimmed his eyes from his gag reflex. He made helpless little sounds as Oswald wrested his dignity from him one thrust at a time.

It had been such a long time since Oswald had last stimulated himself that it didn’t take long for him to start hurtling towards climax.

And then he heard the faint thud of footsteps coming up the hallway. Edward appeared to hear them too, as he tried to pull back. Tried being the operative word; Oswald refused to relinquish his grip and held Edward in place while he directed the man to crawl beneath the desk. Edward just barely managed to scoot into position before Zsasz came striding into the room.

Oswald leaned his chin on a palm, his other guiding Edward into sucking at the base of his cock.

“What’s the news?” he asked shakily, hoping his face wasn’t as warm as it felt. And if it was, that Zsasz would mistake it for inebriation. He kept Ed’s nose nested to the fine hairs on his crotch to ensure any sounds he made would be muffled.  

Zsasz didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “We’ve found three caches planted by Mr. White. He won’t have the weapons to oppose you now.”

“Anything else?”

“We’ve stored the weapons in _your_ caches. I’ve left a list of ‘em on Ed’s desk. No idea where he is, by the way; Ignatius is outside having a smoke.”

“Don’t worry,” said Oswald breathlessly. He was trying very hard to withhold the urge to come. If he did, he was sure it would be a violent end to his calm façade. “I know where he is. He’s making himself useful.”

“Isn’t he always doing that?”

“More than usual, this time.”

“So you can teach old dogs new tricks, huh?” Zsasz smiled toothily. “I’ll catch you later, chief. Unless you need me for something else?”

“No, I’m good.” Edward swallowed around his cock. He bit the edge of his lip to restrain a moan. “H-have a good night, my friend. And close the door behind you, please: I need some quiet.”

“Will do.”

The moment Zsasz was out of hearing range, Oswald yanked Edward back by his curly tresses and proceeded to come. He didn’t see the mess he’d made until he scooted the chair back far enough to look down.

All over his glasses. Oh dear.

Edward smudged the come across the glass as he tried to clean them, coughing periodically to enable better airflow to his lungs. Having a cock in your throat for that length of time couldn’t have been comfortable.

Oswald reached into his pocket and extended Edward a handkerchief. Edward accepted it.

“You were wonderful, Ed.” He knew Edward responded well to praise. Stroking a hand through Edward’s damp hair, he was pleased to find Edward leaning into his touch. “You’re such a good boy, so talented at everything you do. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

Fingers trembling, Edward removed his glasses and began to wipe them clean. “T-thank you, Mr. Penguin,” he said, his voice hoarse and ragged. Oswald must have rubbed his throat raw, but Oswald could still hear the undertone of genuine flattery.

“Please, call me Oswald.”  

 

* * *

 

Edward started sleeping with him that day, in the platonic sense of the word. It marked the first day he’d left the Iceberg Lounge since being transported there as Oswald’s new centerpiece. Over a year of inertia, though as far as Edward knew, it had only been a month since he had seen the world beyond the jagged barriers of the Iceberg Lounge.

He had gasped in wonderment upon seeing Oswald’s mansion. Never before had he been in such a large, sumptuous building, and every step they took inside seemed to unveil more things of interest. Paintings, wallpaper, furniture, and beautifully designed lamps; he examined them all at length and complimented Oswald on his taste in décor.

Oswald enjoyed his youthful enthusiasm. It was very sweet.

They slept side by side that night, Oswald’s arms coiled tight around Edward’s shoulders and holding him to his chest, his chin resting on the crown of Edward’s head. The sound of Edward’s soft breaths lulled him into slumber.

He fell asleep reminding himself that a gun lay in the bottom drawer of his bedside table, loaded so he could use it fast should Edward try anything.

Sometimes he awoke in the early hours of the morning with adrenaline prickling beneath his skin and his heartbeat thudding in his chest, but when he checked on Edward, the man was always sound asleep. He usually turned onto his side and stroked Edward’s hair until the tension drained away. He never did end up using the gun.

Often while watching Edward sleep, his thoughts would stray to their first encounter and how intimately intertwined their lives had become since then. Never would he have conceived of the possibility he would one day fall in love with Edward Nygma, fall out of love, and then have their relationship develop into… _this_ , whatever _this_ was. It was likely Edward would always be part of his life in some capacity, even if that capacity happened to be functioning as his centerpiece.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He was getting used to having Ed around as more than just a pretty statue he could gaze at when he needed a pick-me-up. The man was good company, he was brilliant at his job, and he was incredibly talented where his mouth was concerned. Last time he’d given Oswald a blow job, Oswald had nearly fainted from the intensity of it.

Edward’s body seemed an endless map for Oswald to explore, and Oswald didn’t want to let it go anytime soon.

 

* * *

 

“So there’s nothing that can be done? Nothing at all?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Victor plucked a frost-bitten book from a shelf. “Have you ever heard of the Little Albert Experiment?”

 

* * *

 

The first time they had penetrative sex came almost two months after their intimate exchanges had begun. The wait wasn’t a result of Oswald putting it off; in fact, he had proposed the idea to Edward several times since their initial encounter. The hesitation came from Edward and Edward alone. And that was fair, as Oswald supposed anyone who hadn’t tried it before would have reservations about taking a cock up their ass.

He made sure to prepare Edward thoroughly beforehand. Plenty of lubrication, a great deal of fingering, and massaging Edward from his shoulders to his thighs worked wonders in helping him relax.

Even before entering Edward, he marveled at how warm and tight he was around his fingers. It increased his anticipation tenfold to know he would soon be burying himself within that soft heat.

For a little while he simply rubbed at Edward’s prostate with his index finger, further relaxing him, getting him ready for the main event. No need to rush, not while Edward was breathing shallowly and biting at the pillow, trying to stifle the little needy sounds he made.

Only when Edward’s attempts to restrain himself had dissolved into him clutching at the pillows with white-knuckled hands and shivering from head to toe did Oswald remove his fingers, slide on a condom, and press his way inside. Beneath him, Edward gasped and arched, his hole accepting the intrusion with ease, like two complimentary puzzle pieces slotting together.

Oswald stroked a palm down his sweat-slick back and felt the warm skin quiver. He reached up and coiled a forearm around Edward’s chest, drawing him into an arch that enabled him to leave bite marks around each prominent bob of his spine, lower and lower until they disappeared into flesh. His thrust were slow to begin with, allowing Edward a moment to adjust to the sensation of being so full.

By the time he was fully sheathed, Edward was moving all four of his limbs, curling his toes, flexing his fingers. Oswald thought idly that he looked like a butterfly pinned down for study, twitching and fluttering its wings. A beautiful specimen.  

It didn’t escape him that it had been a butterfly that had given Oswald the idea of preserving Edward in ice. This was a different method of preservation, perhaps, but no less elongated. He would forever have this memory of Edward spread out beneath him and speared on his cock; nothing would ever take that away from him, not even Edward himself.

His first real thrust drew a loud, keening note from Edward’s throat that he was certain the new housemaid would have been able to hear. Regardless, he thrust in again, hoping to elicit that same sound. He did, and Edward pressed his face hard into the pillow in an attempt to muffle it.

“Don’t be shy, Ed,” he murmured, following Edward down, pressing a bite into a sweaty shoulder and dragging the flat of his tongue over the pink indent. He liked the way Edward tasted; clean and a little musky. He wondered if certain other parts of him would taste much the same. “Let it out.”

“Your cleaner-“ Edward choked out, “will hear me.”

“Believe me, she’s heard worse.”

Edward staunchly kept his face pressed to the pillow. Where he was panting, a wet patch began to form.

Oswald thrust again, harder this time, and reached between Edward’s legs to palm at his cock, ravaging Edward’s plan to remain quiet and drawing forth another cry, a crescendo of ‘ah, ah, ah!’ that ended in a strangled whimper of Oswald’s name.

Oswald didn’t expect to last long if he kept on making sounds like that.

“That’s it, Ed, don’t try to hide your voice,” he whispered, grasping a warm clef of Edward’s ass with his free hand so he could watch Edward stretch around his cock. “You love this, don’t you?”

Edward panted his reply. “Yuh-yes.”

“Aren’t I good to you, Ed, giving you all this despite the things you did to me.”

“Y-yes.”

Oswald dragged a thumb over the stretched rim of Edward’s hole. He took it so well, better than Oswald had expected.

“All mine,” he murmured, pushing in deeper, harder, seeking to expel all rational thought from Edward’s mind. His fingers constricted around the base of Edward’s cock. “You are mine, aren’t you? You belong to me, don’t you Ed?”

“Yes!” he answered in a cry, thoughtless and overwrought.

Oswald arched low, mouthing a shoulder blade. “I want you to say it.”

“I-I-“

“Say it.”

“I’m yours!”

“Again.”

“I’m yours,” Edward groaned, rutting wantonly into Oswald’s hand, pre-come beading on the head of his cock. “I’m yours,” he said again, without prompting. “I’m yours.”

The soft, pleading note in Edward voice sent Oswald over the edge. His eyes snapped shut and he stilled, a tremor rocking through him as he reached his finish. Soon thereafter Edward joined him in the bliss of climax, ejaculating into the damp warmth of Oswald’s palm and collapsing upon the pillows. He panted so hard one might have thought he was trying to expel his lungs.

Oswald followed him down and lay with his chest upon Edward’s back, cock still buried deep within him. He made no attempt to remove it as he made himself comfortable. Absentmindedly, he tugged the quilt up to cover their naked bodies.

When he rested his head between Edward’s shoulder blades, he was able to hear his heart thumping away, gradually losing its speed.

“Ed,” he whispered. “Say it again.”

“Mmm?”

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” murmured Edward sleepily, and Oswald kissed his neck, and back, and shoulders in gratitude, prompting a series of soft rumbling sounds from Edward.

They lay there for a long while, warm and spent, riding out the aftermaths of their lovemaking.

 

* * *

 

Oswald started smothering Edward in gifts after their coupling. He wanted Edward to know how much he appreciated him, how happy he made Oswald, and gifts were an easy way to convey that. Even if Edward hadn’t deserved Oswald’s gratitude, he had little in the way of personal possessions and _needed_ the things Oswald gave him. Everything he presented Edward with had a practical purpose, even the rings and bracelets (thought he wouldn’t deny he primarily gifted jewellery to Edward simply because he enjoyed the sight of amethysts against his pale skin). More often than not, he would gift Edward professionally tailored clothes, always in shades of purple or black.

He had no interest in seeing Ed in green.

It wasn’t uncommon for Oswald to find something he wanted Edward to have while on business. Sometimes it was a ring, or a book, or a beautiful jacket; little things that made him think of Edward. He’d given him at least three fur coats he’d seen in shop windows by now in preparation for the coldest months of winter, as Edward always struggled to cope with the cold. The ice seemed to have seeped into his very bone marrow and made home there.

In the beginning, Edward had protested the gifts. ‘This is too much, Mr. Penguin’; ‘you don’t need to do this for me, sir’; ‘your company is all I need’. Very sweet, but Oswald was insistent, and eventually Edward started accepting them with comments of thanks instead.

But occasionally, he would still offer Edward something that Edward thought too generous to accept.

An amethyst pendant with the approximate value of a quarter of a million was among those things.

“I can’t take this, Oswald,” Edward murmured upon being presented with the pendant, though Oswald could spy some hunger in those dark eyes. Edward always had liked _shiny_ things. “This looks incredibly expensive, and you’ve given me so much already.”

“You _will_ take the pendant, Ed,” Oswald insisted, placing it in Edward’s hand and withdrawing his own so Edward wouldn’t try to give it back. “I’ve already paid a professional engraver to write a personal message inside for you. It would be a waste of my time and money if you were to refuse.”

“I’ve never owned something so expensive before,” said Edward, tracing the outline of the amethyst with a thumb. It was a beautiful dark stone, made prominent by the casing of gold and a ring of tiny diamonds. It was certainly the largest piece of jewellery Oswald had ever gifted Edward.

“Well, you’re going to have to get used to it.” Oswald slid a hand to the collar of Edward’s shirt, drawing him down for a chaste kiss. “I’m far from finished spoiling you.”

“I haven’t even done anything to deserve this,” mumbled Ed.

“That isn’t true. Surely you know that isn’t true.” Oswald’s fingers danced over Edward’s clavicle, parting fabric so he could feel the warm skin beneath. “You’ve helped my business prosper. You’ve pleasured me. You’ve done everything I’ve asked without hesitation or question.” He pressed another kiss to Edward’s mouth, at the edge of his lips this time. “Really, _I_ should be asking what I’ve done to deserve _you_.”

“More than enough, I assure you.” The gold chain of the pendant clinked as Edward raised it above his head and slid over his neck, allowing it to rest on his sternum. The dark jewel appeared to glow under the gentle overhead light that smothered the whole of the Iceberg Lounge. “How does it look?” he asked.

“Do you need to ask? Everything looks good on you.” Oswald guided Edward’s hand down. “Now, why don’t you have a look at the message I had inscribed? I think you’ll like it.”

Edward smiled shyly. He wiggled a thumb between the metal clasps to pry it open.

_You have my heart and I have yours  
You were lost, but now restored _

_O. C. C._

Edward’s eyes widened. “I have your heart?”

“And I have yours,” finished Oswald. “Don’t I, Ed?” He nuzzled his nose into Edward’s neck, breathing upon the cool flesh there. “Haven’t I earned it?”

“Well, I- I _have_ had a wonderful time living and working with you,” murmured Edward. “I didn’t expect that to be the case, considering how we started off. I thought you would hate me, and I thought you had every right to after the things I did.” He shifted their bodies closer together and dragged the tips of his fingers over Oswald’s torso, over the bumpy flesh just beneath his rib cage. Edward had long since become familiar with the injury he had inflicted on Oswald and the ugly scar it had left behind. “After everything you’ve done for me, all the forgiveness you’ve extended, how could you not have my heart? I only wish I felt I deserved _yours_.”

“I’ve already forgive you for what you did,” said Oswald.

“But you will always carry that scar, the one I made.” Edward shook his head. “You deserve better than me, Oswald. I might be different now, but there’s always the potential for me to be the monster that hurt you.”

“Shhh.” Oswald reached up to soothe his hands through Edward’s unruly hair. It was long enough now to start curling at the ends. “That’s all in the past. Please don’t blame yourself.”

“But it _was_ me, and I hurt you for no reason at all.”

“You did,” agreed Oswald in a whisper. “And I’ve chosen to let you into my life regardless.”

He hadn’t been forthcoming about the existence of Isabella. He didn’t think Edward would be quite as repentant were he to mention that, and he didn’t fancy having to explain why she _had_ to die. He couldn’t be sure Edward would understand. He certainly hadn’t the _last_ time she had come up.

And anyway, ignorance was bliss.

“Still, if it’s that great of a concern, I can think of a few ways you can repent.” He delved beneath Edward’s fur coat to squeeze at his ample buttocks. He would never get tired of doing that.

Like the good boy he was, Edward shifted into his grip. “Some time ago, you ordered something from an adult store. I can’t quite remember what the name was.” Oswald felt a little lecherous, making this suggestion in broad daylight. “How would you feel about going back there?”

“That sounds embarrassing,” mumbled Edward.

Oswald laughed airly. “We wouldn’t be there long, I promise. Besides, don’t you _want_ to repent?”

Edward hesitated. “I do.”

“Then let me help you.”

Edward squirmed against the hands kneading at his ass. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

And that was how Edward Nygma ended up sprawled across Oswald’s bed with pillows under his hips, presenting his ass to the air. It was a pale peach now, but that wouldn’t be the case for long.

Oswald had instructed him to select a cane. He’d picked up the first one he’d seen on the store shelves, clearly in an effort to get out of there faster, and was visibly starting to regret his decision as Oswald ran his fingers up the length of the long, thin implement. He’d inadvertently picked out a rattan cane, likely to leave a very memorable impression. He fully intended to have Edward sitting awkwardly for at least a week by the time he was done.

He bent it slightly in his hands and gave it a swish through the air, the resulting hiss loud enough to make Edward flinch. This activity was as emotional and it was physical, so he did it again, deliberately building upon Edward’s nervous anticipation.

“I can warm you up first, if you prefer,” said Oswald, lowering the cane to slide it over the slope of Edward’s buttocks. They clenched in response.

“Wh-what do you mean?” stammered Edward.

“With my hand. I can warm you up so this-“ he gave Ed a little slap on the thighs, drawing forth a yelp. The slightest red mark began to appear on his pale skin. “Will be more tolerable.”

“Yes,” Edward breathed into the pillow. “Do the warm up first.”

“You’re missing some words,” murmured Oswald, idly tapping the cane down Edward’s thighs.

“ _Please_ do the warm up, _sir_.”

Oswald’s blood boiled beneath his skin and drained straight into his genitals. He did so love the sound of complete and utter submission, especially from Edward. His submission was a delicacy, one reserved only for Oswald.

“Better.”

He placed the cane directly within Edward’s line of sight. A nice little reminder of what was to come while Oswald reddened his ass.

The quilt bunched up under his knees as he got into position behind Edward, flexing his fingers within their black gloves, leather squeaking. Edward’s breathing had turned shallow.

He started slow, carding his fingers through Edward’s soft, curly hair before descending lower, dragging down between his shoulder blades and drawing soothing circles into the man’s plaint muscle. Edward arched ever so slightly at the gentle touch, a needy sound on his lips.

“Don’t enjoy yourself to much, Ed. Remember why we’re doing this.”

He felt Edward take a deep, centering breath. “Because I hurt you.”

“You betrayed me,” murmured Oswald. He let his fingers drag to the small of Edward’s back, raising bright pink welts. “You tried to take my kingdom from me.” The first hit came swiftly, sending Edward tipping forward with the force of it, a gasp barrelling out of his lungs. “You almost succeeded.” He placed another strike upon Edward’s right cheek.

“I-I would never- not anymore,” Edward stuttered out, his head falling to hang between tense shoulders.

“I know.” His hand came down again, with enough force to produce an echo. Edward groaned and attempted to maneuver out of the way, but Oswald stilled him by grabbing a hip. “But I’ll never be able to forget that,” continued Oswald, his voice dropping in volume. “Being shot by the man I love.”

“I’m sorry,” Edward whispered, and Oswald heard remorse in every syllable.  

He applied another smack.

This wasn’t… his Edward, but it was _an_ Edward, and he was a good enough scapegoat for Oswald’s grief.

“Thank you, Ed, for admitting fault.” The boy jolted when his hand came down on where ass met thighs, whimpering and withering in Oswald’s grip. He applied another, and then one more, watching as Edward’s skin rapidly became mottled with the outline of his hand print. “It helps,” he murmured. “It really helps.”

“I’m sorry,” said Edward again, gripping at the under sheet in an effort to remain still. “I’m so sorry, Oswald. I would never hurt you. I would do anything for you.”

Oswald’s hand froze in mid-air. His heart stuttered in his chest, suddenly full of ice.

_I hope you know, Oswald, I would do anything for you._

He closed his eyes, trying to will away the moisture that had developed there. This was not an appropriate time to cry. This was supposed to be _Edward’s_ night to shed tears.

“Would you really, Ed?” he asked, struggling to maintain his composure. “Would you really do anything for me?“

“Yes,” said Edward, with startling fierceness. “I would do _anything_ , Oswald. Even something like _this_.”

“Prove it to me, Ed.” He lowered his hand to glide it between Edward’s crack, feeling heat radiate off his reddened cheeks. “Give me a number for the cane. How many do you think you deserve for what you did to me?”

He spied Edward’s mouth opening to answer, and then closing in apparent uncertainty. Oswald himself would have had trouble coming up with an answer were he posed the same question, so he chose not to chastise him for his hesitation. In the meantime, however…

“I’ll be continuing this,” he swatted Edward’s backside. “Until you give me a number.”

So he continued, savouring the little ah’s and oh’s Edward made with each struke. It didn’t escape his notice that Edward was humping the pillow, and that was perhaps why it was several minutes before Edward cried out a number.

“Twenty!”

That was quite a bit more than Oswald had expected. Ten, maybe, but twenty? He was going to be tender for a _very_ long time.

And that suited Oswald just fine.

He retracted his hand and reached for the cane. Edward’s eyes followed it as it rose out of sight.

“Twenty it is, then.” He slid to the customary position at the side of the bed. His earlier grief had trickled away, and in its place developed a welcoming exhilaration, one he had felt many a time before, albeit in different circumstances. For him, power, pleasure, violence, and love were all irrevocably intertwined; they all provided him with a similar rush.

“You don’t have to count,” he told Edward, because frankly, he’d much rather listen to Ed’s whimpers than stifled attempts at uttering a number. He delivered a quick stroke to his backside.

Edward didn’t just whimper; he cried out, curling forward and grappling at the bed sheets. Miraculously, through sheer willpower, he managed to keep his ass firmly situated in the air despite his wriggling. He really was desperate for vindication.

Oswald’s mouth curled as he applied another stroke. He saw the skin welting, heating, and this time Edward’s thighs quivered with the effort it took to remain in place.

The next four came hard and fast, and he heard soft, breathy sounds coming from Edward when he stopped, interrupted periodically by what was plainly a sob. It hadn’t taken long for him to be driven to tears.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Edward sniffed. “No, I can do this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Beg. I want to hear you beg.”

Edward complied in an instant. “Please,” he whispered.

“Please what, Ed?”

“Please cane me. I deserve to be caned.”

Oswald was inclined to agree.

Before Edward could gather his wits, Oswald lifted the cane and brought it down with a sharp snap across the top of his buttocks. Edward kicked in involuntary shock, the first time he’d broken position. Like the good, obedient boy he was, he scrambled back into place before Oswald could comment upon it.

That was seven. Thirteen more to go.

By now Oswald’s trousers had become uncomfortably tight, and he did his own fair share of squirming as he laid down three consecutive blows, each one more erratic and unfocused than the last. It didn’t help that Edward was now openly wailing, rocking forward in a way that made his cock skim across his belly. A dollop of pre-come had smeared the pillow.

Red lines marched up Edward’s ass and thighs with each new blow, some perfectly horizontal, others at a slant, marring his skin like a brand. One of repentance, of ownership. He heard Edward whimper his name and the rush of unadulterated power was beyond intoxicating. His focus stuttered, a lash falling just above Edward’s knees and prompting the loudest cry yet.

Sweat beaded down Oswald’s brow as he continued. The activity was by no means physically strenuous, but coping with the intensity of his erection certainly was. He only managed six more hits before his hand was shaking too badly to continue.

With fumbling fingers, he discarded the cane and unbuckled his belt, unzipping his trousers just enough to shove them out of the way. A liberal coating of spit was all the lubrication he applied before clambering onto the bed and grasping Edward by his hips, pulling him down onto his rigid cock in one swift motion.

Edward squealed like a stuck pig at the suddenness of it. He pumped into him punishingly, mercilessly, and Edward took it all without complaint because Edward knew he deserved every last bit of Oswald’s resentment and lust.

He had promised Oswald anything. Everything. And he had lied.

But this Edward-

He would atone for the sins of his predecessor.


	3. Part 3

Not only did Edward have trouble sitting for well over a week, he had trouble walking as well. For a little while, he and Oswald had a matching limp. This was not something either Zsasz or Ignatius failed to notice, but while Zsasz smiled knowingly, toothy and wide, Ignatius appeared to be under the impression he had hurt himself under normal, innocent circumstances and felt it necessary to periodically ask Edward how his injury was doing. It made him blush each and every time he had to tell Ignatius he was fine.

With that final act of repentance, Edward felt they had more or less buried the hatch on his former life. He would never be ‘The Riddler’. He would never let that happen, and he had Oswald to keep him in line should he ever stray. His only desire in life was to make Oswald happy, because making Oswald happy made him happy.  

Despite the fact Edward still primarily resided at the Iceberg Lounge, they settled into something of a domestic routine. Provided Oswald wasn’t too busy, they would generally go out for breakfast and lunch and retire to the mansion before evening started to fall. After dinner, there would usually be some slow, languid sex in the living room or bedroom or whatever room happened to be vacant of their housemaid, and then they would head to bed.  

Edward enjoyed the structured life Oswald had built for him. It was different from his former life in many respects, but similar enough in others that he found it easy to adapt to. It kept him busy, but it kept him content, too, and really, the only complaint he could make was that Zsasz would make the occasional joke about broken fingers while in his company ( _deliberately_ , he suspected).

Often Edward would find himself stroking his beautiful amethyst pendant and thinking wistfully of Oswald when Oswald wasn’t around. He’d never been in love before, but he could identify all the psychological signs of it; the exhilaration, euphoria, increased energy, sleeplessness, loss of appetite, trembling, racing heart and accelerated breathing. He had experienced all of them at least once while in Oswald’s radiant presence. Oswald had his heart, just like he had Oswald’s.

For someone who had gone crazy and woken up as an ice cube not five months prior, he was feeling incredibly lucky. There weren’t many people who could say they’d survived such an ordeal – in fact, he was fairly certain he was the _only_ person to have ever survived such an ordeal, and he’d come out better for it.

At the end of each day, just before drifting off to sleep, Oswald liked to mumble sappy phrases into his ear and have them parroted back. Things like ‘your heart belongs to me’ and ‘I love you’ and ‘I would do anything for you’. It got to a point where Oswald would only needed mouth the words to prompt Edward to utter the sappy phrases he’d become so familiar with. He didn’t mind doing it; he suspected after everything that had happened between them, Oswald needed the reassurance.

To make things even better, he’d manage to develop a comradery with the members of Oswald’s inner circle. Fries, Bridget, and Ivy; they all liked him to varying degrees. Fries, surprisingly, ended up being the one with whom he had the closest relationship, born of their mutual passion for science. Whenever Fries wasn’t busy doing whatever it was he did for Oswald, Edward would engage him in discussion about his work. His lab was a little chilly for Edward liking, so he would generally wear a fur coat throughout.

Ivy was significantly less fond of him, having not forgotten or forgiven various things he had done in the past, while Bridget was apathetic and scarcely reciprocated his attempts to initiate conversation. But that was alright, because this was still more social activity than he’d ever had in university. He’d been the ‘weird guy’, not exactly well-liked.  

But he was liked now. That was what mattered.

Edward smiled privately to himself. Yes, he was a very lucky man indeed.

* * *

 

Edward examined Fries’ latest project with awe. It was a small, sodden butterfly that shimmered as it twitched its frost-bitten wings, trying and failing to take flight from its heated glass enclosure. Its little antennae had long since fallen off, and its legs were currently stiff and unpliant, but it was otherwise coping with the cold just fine.

“This is incredible work,” murmured Edward, rising from the counter to cast a grin at his companion. Fries returned it in a twitch of lips.

“Thank you. It’s taken me quite some time to get the composition right.” He strode closer to the glass enclosure, and Edward felt the cold rolling off of him in waves. He tugged the sides of his jacket tighter around himself. “All going well, I should be able to replicate these results on myself. Preferably without losing any extremities.”

“On yourself?” Edward glanced at the suit propped up in the corner of the room. “Hoping to be free of that suit, are you? I did wonder if that would get a little tiring to have to put every time you went outside.”

“Beyond tiring,” Fries murmured. “I’m not opposed to the cold; I like it, in fact, but I would like to be able to leave this room without it on and feel the sun on my face without it prompting pain.” He dragged a thumb over the surface of the enclosure, frost appearing in its wake. “And I would like to be able to leave flowers at my wife’s grave in a less conspicuous manner. If not for the night, I would never have a private moment with her.”

“I’m sorry,” Edward murmured, uncertain of how to proceed. Fries was usually a reticent man, prone to one-word replies and non-committal grunts. He would only speak at length about his work and his wife, and any mention of his wife was generally followed by him announcing his undying love for her. It was impossible not to feel for him. Edward couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to have the one you love taken away from you.

Fries audibly cleared his throat. “Thank you, Edward.” He retreated a few steps, taking his cold with him. Edward was finally able to cease clutching the folds of his coat. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” he began hesitantly. “How is Mr. Cobblepot treating you?”

“Very well,” said Edward immediately; he didn’t need to think before answering such a question. Oswald treated him like a prince, spoiling and pampering him to an excessive degree. “Why do you ask?”

“You were limping some time ago. I wondered why.”

Edward was grateful for the cold in that moment, as the capillaries in his face were too chilled to fill with blood. “Nothing happened that I didn’t consent to.”

“So he did hurt you, then?”

“I wanted him to.”

"You wanted him to?”

“Not like that, not in a bad way,” Edward added quickly. “It was just… intimacy stuff.” He really didn’t know how to traverse this topic. People rarely expressed concern about his well-being.

“Is that the extent of your relationship with him?” asked Fries. “Intimacy?”

“We’re together,” replied Ed.

“I was under the impression he’d given up on romance, much like myself.”

“He’s decided to give it another chance.”

“He seemed certain when he decided to freeze you that he would no longer make that ‘mistake’.” Fries’ expression remained unreadable. Along with his ability to subsist in normal temperatures, his new cellular design had muted his ability to maneuver his features. After a few moments, he spoke again. “I’ve come to the realization that, if you were to recover your memories and things were to regress, I wouldn’t be able to freeze you this time.”

“You won’t be given any reason to freeze me. I’m no threat to Oswald.”

“This isn’t about Oswald’s well-being. It’s about yours.”

Edward fidgeted with the fur on his sleeves. “Fries – _Victor_ – I appreciate your concern, but we’re perfectly happy. Even if I did ever recover memories, nothing would change.” He spoke with a voice full of conviction. “I love him. I would never hurt him, and certainly not in the way I did in the past. He’s everything to me.”

“You could test that theory,” said Victor, shuffling past Edward to switch on his tape player. He twisted the volume knob until hard rock echoed throughout the room.

Edward opened his mouth to voice his confusion, but Victor held up a hand to forestall interruption. “I know a man who can help you recover your memories.”

“Wh-“ Edward balked. “That wouldn’t be _helping_ me. I was _insane_.”

“You said yourself, ‘nothing would change’.” Victor leaned a hip into the counter, folding his arms. “If its true love, as you say, you have nothing to worry about.”

“But…” Edward struggled for words. “But Oswald is your _friend_ , and surely he doesn’t want you telling me something like that.”

“My friend?” Victor guffawed. “He is my employer until I finish my cure, and currently, I am on the precipice of doing just that.”

“Am _I_ your friend?” asked Edward. “Is that why you’re telling me all of this?”

This gave Fries pause. His too-bright eyes stared down at Edward with such intensity that Edward soon started to feel uncomfortable. An excuse to leave was on the tip of his tongue when Fries finally replied. “No,” he said at last. “No, I don’t have friends. I have employers and acquaintances.”

“Then _why_?”

“Two reasons,” said Fries. “You’re a pleasant person to be around, so I voluntarily take responsibility for my part in your…” He made a vague gesture at Edward. “And two, I don’t particularly _like_ Mr. Cobblepot. He drove me and my kind out of Gotham. I do not work for him out of a sense of loyalty or friendship. He is merely a means to an end.”

Edward was torn between gratitude for Fries’ compassion and anger at his complete dismissal of Oswald. “You’re trusting me with an awful lot of sensitive information,” Edward pointed out, trying for a gelid voice and not quite managing it. “I might relay everything you just said to Oswald.”

To this, Fries merely smiled. “I know. But if you were to mention this to Oswald, it would change very little. He knows I work for him out of _necessity_.” He leaned toward Edward. A scattering of frost broke away from his hairline. “Keep the name Hugo Strange in mind.”

“I will,” said Edward with confidence, but with absolutely no intention of finding out whoever this ‘Hugo Strange’ was. He wanted to show his mental fortitude in resisting the urge to recover the last eight years of his life. He couldn’t pretend the idea didn’t have its appeal; after all, eight years was a very long time, but he valued Oswald more than he valued that loss.

Victor grunted in dismissal, and Edward took his leave.

Hugo Strange… now why did that name sound so familiar?

* * *

 

Every morning before breakfast, Oswald liked to kiss each one of his knuckles in turn. He would often do little things like this, worshiping Edward’s body with his mouth and his hands and his cock. He had never thought of himself as possessing a body worthy of such reverence, and certainly, his peers had agreed, but Oswald fawned over him as if he were a precious jewel. He wasn’t inclined to agree, but he appreciated the affection all the same.

Whenever he tried to reciprocate, however, Oswald would shy away. He didn’t particularly enjoy being touched anywhere from the neck down, and Edward knew it was because Oswald had body issues of his own, exacerbated by the weight he’d put on. Personally, Edward loved the thickness of his thighs and the paunch of his belly. He loved the how soft Oswald’s chubby cheek was when he kissed it, and how large Oswald’s hands felt against his own. He’d tried to tell Oswald as much, but Oswald refused to hear it, to even acknowledge the weight he’d gained.

After Oswald had snapped at him for attempting to compliment his appearance, he hadn’t brought it up again.

Edward own self-esteem issues were linked to the mop that served as his hair, these days. It was getting so long now that it was starting to gather in curls around the nape of his neck. It look _ridiculous_. He _hated_ it. He’d started wearing that godforsaken bowler hat he’d woken up with just to cover it. If not for the fact Oswald openly loved the length of his hair, he would have cut it ages ago.

For a good week he begged and pleaded with Oswald to let him have a haircut, going so far as to get on his knees, but it wasn’t until he caught Oswald during a moment inebriation that he managed to worm an affirmative out of the man. Oswald had only one condition: _he_ had to be the one to do it.

As far as he knew, Oswald didn’t have any prior experience with cutting hair; there was a great potential for Oswald to make it worse, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

So the next time Oswald had a free evening, they set up a little hair salon in Edward’s bathroom. Oswald went a little overboard with preparations and brought everything from combs to a straight razor. Edward found his enthusiasm endearing, though he made sure to mention that the scissors would suffice for a trim.

Oswald sat him down in a chair they’d dragged in from the dining room and threw a plush blue towel around his neck, tucking it behind his back.

“I’m beginning to think being a barber was your true passion,” said Edward.

“Well, I always was good at trimming plants in the garden.”

“Not really the same thing,” said Edward with a touch of apprehension. From shears to scissors. That was quite the learning curve.

“Close enough.”

“It really isn’t.”

Oswald chuckled. “Don’t worry, Ed. I’m not going to ruin your ‘do.” He carded his fingers through Edward’s hair and scratched idly at his scalp, like petting a cat. Appropriately, Edward purred in appreciation.

“Mmm…”

“I really do like it this length,” muttered Oswald. “Are you certain you want it cut?”

“Yes,” Ed forced out, not letting himself get too caught up in the pleasant sensation of Oswald’s fingers rubbing along his scalp. “Not too much, though. Just enough so it’s neat.”

“Very well.” He heard the scissors creak shut and a clump of hair went rolling down the towel. Edward allowed a few more clumps to fall before he shifted his hands beneath the towel so they went tumbling to the floor. He would have to sweep up the mess later. He didn’t expect Oswald to do it for him, and nor would he ask him to.

“This isn’t too hard,” said Oswald while moving to the opposite side of his head. “I always thought cutting hair looked rather simple.”

Edward wasn’t sure he trusted Oswald’s assessment. Though he had taken to gelling it back recently, it wasn’t that uncommon for Oswald’s own hair to be a chaotic mess. Edward hadn’t said as much, but he thought it looked far better when it wasn’t styled into the rear-end of a chicken.

The snipping continued. Edward periodically examined Oswald’s work in the mirror, and to his surprise, he wasn’t doing a bad job. His hair might even be passable by the time Oswald was done.

After a while, he closed his eyes and let Oswald work undisturbed. Oswald’s humming almost lulled Ed to sleep.

“Done,” Oswald announced, loud enough that Ed jolted in his seat. He snapped his eyes open to check Oswald’s handiwork in the mirror.

Still a little long at the back, but it was by no means bad. He tucked his fringe behind an ear and grasped either armrest, preparing to stand. Oswald pressed a hand to his chest before he could rise.

“Stay right there.”

Ever the obedient one, Edward did.

“You did a fine job, Oswald. You don’t need to change anything,” he said. He expected Oswald to retract at this words. Instead, Oswald maintained a firm grip on Edward’s chest and threw the scissors into the sink, presumably for later cleaning.

“I know,” said Oswald. “Don’t move.”

Oswald’s intentions were elucidated when he retrieved shaving cream from the bathroom cabinet. It had been a while since Edward had shaved. Generally he didn’t need to, his face scarcely sprouting hair (something Edward had lamented in high school), and he still didn’t think he needed to, but evidently Oswald thought the very light peach fuzz on his chin and jaw was noticeable enough to require a shave.

In the mirror, he watched Oswald dip two fingers into the opaque cream and smear it across his jaw. The coolness of the cream prompted a shiver.

“You don’t really need to do this for me.” While he trusted Oswald, it wasn’t enough to put him at ease with the thought of another person applying a razor to his skin. He had a hard enough time avoiding cuts when he did that _himself_. Without sensation to guide him, how many would Oswald inadvertently inflict?

Oswald spread cream over his chin. “I want to.” He picked up the straight razor and Edward’s shoulders went rigid. He’d assumed Oswald would use the small plastic ones in the cabinet, not the big, unwieldy blade he’d purchased on a whim. “Besides, you trust me, don’t you?”

With the straight razor in hand, Oswald slid around to Edward’s front. He perched himself on Edward’s thighs, a heavy, but comfortable weight, and reached up place the blade upon Edward’s cheek. “I do,” murmured Edward, careful not to jostle the razor.

“Then hush and let me do this.”

Holding himself perfectly still, Edward honed in on the delicate scrape of metal being draw across skin. Oswald came away with a smattering of light brown hairs and not a hint of blood. He flicked the sullied cream into the sink, and Edward allowed himself to breathe.

His upper lip was the next to be shaven, though there was little hair there to speak of. A few flicks of the razor was enough to finish the job. Oswald gently tilted Edward’s head back and started on the underside of his jaw, sliding the blade down and over his thudding pulse point.

Each glide of the blade lacked the perfunctory nature of a normal shave, too soft and sensual, drawn out like a caress. Steady hands guided the blade over the hollows of his cheeks, across his chin, and down his neck. He felt the razor graze his adams apple and winced at the sting that follow, blood beading to the surface of a very shallow cut.

“Whoops.” Oswald didn’t sound at all like he’d done it by accident. He leaned down, and Edward expected him to place his sleeve over it, to soak up the blood, but what he felt instead was the hot drag of a tongue. The stinging worsened beneath the application of heat. He inhaled sharply, reaching up to grasp at Oswald’s forearm.

“That hurts.”

Oswald withdrew just enough to speak. The tip of his pointed nose nuzzled the space between jaw and throat. “It’s not that bad, though, is it?” Wiping the razor clean on his thigh, Oswald pressed it to the sharp edge of a collarbone. “It might even start to feel good.”

“Oswald…”

“Just let me do a few.” A slow drag of the blade, and Edward felt the skin split and a thin rivulet of blood develop. “You left your mark on me. I want to leave one on you.”

He couldn’t bring himself to deny Oswald’s request, not with that ugly, twisted scar on Oswald’s torso fresh in mind. He had made that, and Oswald would have it for the rest of his life as a reminder of Edward’s mistakes. Perhaps if he mapped out an apology on Edward’s skin, Edward would feel less guilty when he thought of having once sent a bullet into Oswald’s gut, and while the man was telling him he loved him, no less.

Edward thumbed open the buttons of his dress shirt for Oswald and Oswald smiled in gratitude.

“You have such lovely skin,” murmured Oswald, adjusting the razor in his hand and positioning it across from the last cut. “Not like mine. Mines so pallid and broken…”

“You’re _beautiful_ , Oswald,” he told him earnestly.

Oswald snorted, saying nothing more as he slid metal through pliant flesh. Skin split and several new rivulets of blood formed, staining his shirt a bright, sticky red. Edward held tight onto Oswald’s arm, needing him for leverage from the pain. He’d never been very good at taking it, not even as a child cowering beneath his father’s meaty fist on an almost daily basis.

There was nothing erotic about this, though Oswald tried to make it so with the slow drag of a tongue and a warm palm ghosting over his inner thighs. He closed his eyes – squeezed them shut, rather, and waited for Oswald to finish.

It was a slow process, each application of the razor dragging on like an hour long event. The hot spill of blood was enough to make him nauseous. He swallowed down bile, determined to let Oswald finish without squirming out of the way. He wouldn’t humiliate himself like he had during his last attempt at recompense.

What exactly he was drawing into Edward’s skin, Edward didn’t know. His body obscured Edward’s view of the mirror and there was too much pain for him to tell by sensation alone. He stared at it blearily, trying to catch a glimpse, but all he could see was the wide, hunched figure of Oswald.

“You’re being so good,” Oswald whispered, and despite the throbbing heat that encompassed the pale stretch of skin beneath his collarbone, Edward felt pride. His doubts dried up immediately. “You’re being so good,” Oswald said again. He mouthed the wound he’d created, smearing crimson over thin lips. “I’m… I’m proud of you, Ed. You know that, don’t you? You wouldn’t do something like this for me unless you’ve come to truly love me.”

“I do love you,” he stated, full of conviction. “I would do anything to make you sure of that.”

“I believe you.” Another cut. Unexpected, this time, and Edward gasped. “I won’t let you be taken from me, Ed. Not this time.” His voice turned into a low, guttural purr. When he looked down at Edward, there was something covetous in his eyes, something hungry, and a little frightening. “You love me, right Ed?"

“Of course I do.”

“You promise to never leave?”

“ _Never_.” Why would he leave someone who had been nothing but gracious and kind to him? Who had given him a roof over his head and food in his belly? Who’d given him the very clothes he wore? He owed Oswald his livelihood. He may very well be dead without him.

“I love you, Oswald,” he said again, full of reverence. And part of him expected Oswald to say it back… but he didn’t.

“I know.”

Oswald’s grip on his thigh was so tight now that there would undoubtedly be an imprint of his fingers there. Another marking to announce that Edward was his, and his alone. And Edward relished it.

“Say it again,” Oswald asked, voice soft and wanting. “Please?”

“I love you.” The razor tore through his skin. Edward whimpered. “I love you.” Another cut; how many until Oswald was done? He wanted to be good for Oswald, but the pain was escalating and he was twitching with the effort of keeping still. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Finally, the blade withdrew. Edward exhaled in relief, shoulders slumping from the force of it. Oswald retrieved a small hand towel from the sink drawer and thrust it under the tap long enough to soak it through, then gave it a few hard squeezes and used it to wipe away the blood. The cuts continued to bleed, but sluggishly. They would need to be bandaged before Edward could put on a new shirt.

“Have a look,” said Oswald, leaning out of the way of the mirror.

The initials ‘O.C.’ stood out stark on his alabaster skin.  

“What do you think?” asked Oswald, watching him intently for his reaction.

“It… it was worth it.” There was awe in his voice. “Worth every moment of pain.”

“I think I’ve done it deep enough to scar.” Oswald dropped off his thighs to dig into the cabinet for first aid supplies. “But if it doesn’t, you wouldn’t mind doing that again, would you?”

Edward only considered this question for a moment. “Not at all.” Whatever Oswald wanted, he would do.

With several rolls of gauze in hand, Oswald resumed sitting on Edward’s thighs. By now, they had started to ache, but he didn’t complain.

“You’re such a good boy, Ed.” It felt like receiving a medal of honour as Oswald leaned up to place a kiss on his forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”

* * *

 

The cuts scarred. Over the following month, they turned from an inflamed red, to a puckered pink, and then a faint, glossy white. When Edward touched them, he noticed the flesh was minutely raised. It was unlikely these scars would ever fade away, just like the starburst of a scar on Oswald’s torso would be there until the day he died.

Edward was glad. Relieved, even, that they now both had a marking made by the other.

Oswald liked to trace it with his fingers when they lay spooned in bed. By Oswald’s request, he only wore his pyjama pants to sleep nowadays. Not that those generally remained in place long after entering the vicinity of the bedroom. Oswald had, by his own admission, started to find it incredibly difficult to keep his hands off Edward for more than a few hours at a time, which wasn’t something Edward particularly minded. It afforded him little privacy, but he didn’t mind that either. Frankly if he’d had the option of spending every minute of every day having attention lavished on him by Oswald, he would have taken it. Nothing pleased him more than being the center of someone’s world.

Recently, Oswald had made changes to his diet in an effort to make him put on some weight. Every day after dinner, after they had retired to the lounge room, one of Oswald’s maids would bring out a platter piled with confectioneries. Surprisingly, the sweets weren’t actually what Edward looked forward to most during desert. Oh, the sweets were delicious, there was no doubt about that, but it was closeness Oswald displayed during desert that made him look forward to it. By the end of dinner, he’d had at least three glasses of wine, so he was generally too tired for intimacy beyond having Edward lie in his lap, and he would stroke a hand through Edward’s hair and tell him he was good, and that he was proud of him, and that he would never leave him. He would endlessly tell him things Edward had never been told by anyone else in his entire life, and all Edward had to do was lie there, be doted on, and eat a pastry or a slice of cake when prompted. He usually felt a little ill after, but it was worth it.

Oswald’s efforts to get him to a healthier weight and cover up his protruding rib cage weren’t actually working, though. With Ed’s speedy metabolism hindering progress, he wasn’t having much luck. Despite this, he continued to feed Ed brownies and ice-cream and cake and lamingtons day after day, perhaps having become used to the routine.

Of course, Edward’s metabolism alone couldn’t be blamed on Edward’s consistent, rapid weight loss. Another contributing factor were the nightmares. 

These days, Edward was something of an insomniac.

Throughout the night he would toss and turn, his mind presenting him with snapshots of things he didn’t understand, things he didn’t want to understand. Shimmering green fabric and skin blotted with purple and black and the sensation of warm metal against his palm and worst of all, the pungent smell of sea salt, a smell that would linger long after he had awoken. 

The few times Oswald had shaken him awake from a nightmare, the man had carefully soothed him back to sleep shortly after. But this wasn’t always the case. It took a great deal to wake Oswald from slumber, especially if he’d had a drink before bed, and Edward often found himself having to resort to breathing exercises in order to get back to sleep, which didn’t always work.

Still, he had a good life, and he couldn’t complain. A few interrupted, sleepless nights weren’t enough to make him believe otherwise.

* * *

 

Edward saw green. Not the shimmering green of fabric, nor what little green could be spotted in industrial streets of Gotham, but a dark, almost black green with an intermingling yellow glare that gave it the look of sunlight peering through leaves.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a pale, pink-lipped face had joined the green. Strands of blonde framed a woman’s beautiful face. She smiled at him and raised a hand, beckoning him closer with a finger. She had coloured her nails gold. It went well with the gold pendant that sat on her sternum.

He glanced to either side of himself to ensure it wasn’t someone else such a radiant woman was enticing closer and startled at the sight of vacant streets. What a odd sight for a city as congested as Gotham.

The woman was still beckoning him when he resumed watching her. Distantly, he heard the sound of eggs sizzling on a strove, the reverberating squeal of a ringing telephone, and the crashing of waves against a pier. Had he closed his eyes and focused, he might have been able to hear them better, but he had more pressing concerns to address.

“Are you okay?” he tried to ask. His words came out garbled and indistinct, impossible for anyone but himself to decipher. He frowned and tried again, only to encounter the same result.

The woman appeared unperturbed by his odd behaviour.

He took a step closer to her, and then another, cautious despite there being no visible reason to be on alert. As he got closer, her hand descended to her side and her smile grew, and grew, and grew. Flesh split and it grew wider still, unveiling teeth and gums and glossy red muscle and the unmistakable white of bone. Steadily, her skin drained of colour, turning a sickly grey. Gory purple blotches expanded over the right side of her face.

Edward withdrew in shock, his heart hammering in his chest. She came closer, her bare feet dragging along loose bits of pitch. He tried to withdraw and found he couldn’t move, as though there was an invisible barrier preventing him from escaping.

The sounds in his head grew louder and louder, the crackling of bacon turning into gunshots and the crashing of waves into the violent crunch of metal on metal. A throbbing developed at the back of his head, painful and disorientating.

Skin slopped off of the woman as she came within touching distance of him. Her fingers were wet with blood as she stroked a hand over his jaw, across his lips. He didn’t dare try to speak for fear of getting something as repugnant as someones sluggish, dying blood in his mouth.

Her cool lips brushed over his cheek, reaching for the shell of his ear. Her nails sunk into his shoulders to draw him close.

His eyes snapped oven.

Taking heaving breaths, Edward became aware of an early morning chill pervading the air and the heat of a body tucked against his own. Oswald’s meaty arms were coiled around his waist, like they always were. Slowly, his breathing evened out and his heart rate began to slow. He unfurled his fingers from where they’d involuntarily fisted into the sheets and sighed, looking dazedly up at the ceiling.

A toothy mouth smiled down at him. “Look at me,” it whispered. “Look at me.”

Edward screamed.

He didn’t know how long he screamed for, and he didn’t know at what point he ended up on the floor with quilts coiled around his waist and Oswald cradling him to his chest, pleading with him to tell him what was wrong. It must have been a considerable length of time, however, because it was the alarm that jostled him out of his stupor. He blinked rapidly as his panic receded enough for him to register his surroundings, gaze finding Oswald.

Oswald had shed a few tears. His cheeks were shiny with the residue of them. Feeling guilty, Edward leaned his face into the crook of Oswald’s neck and twisted his fingers into Oswald’s pyjama shirt.

“Ed? Ed, are you alright? Please say something!”

Edward took a deep breath through his nose, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of Oswald Cobblepot. After a while, his terrified trembling started to subside.

“I’m okay.” He turned boneless in Oswald’s arms, leaning into him, soaking up all the comfort and concern he offered. “Just a bad dream,” he mumbled, and it was as much a reassurance for himself as it was for Oswald.

Oswald squeezed him closer. “You were – you were screaming so loud. You’ve never done that before.”

“It was a distressing dream.”

“But you were _so_ loud.”

“Oswald…” He leaned back to smile down at his lover. “I really am okay. It was a little worse than the other dreams, but it was still just a dream.” And when he’d seen that woman on the ceiling – that had probably been part of the dream, too, or perhaps a result of sleep paralysis. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d experienced either of those things, though not quite this… vividly.

“What was it about?” asked Oswald.

The brief lull in thought had been enough to banish the majority of the dream from memory. All he could remember now was the grotesque lady and her endless, gory smile.

“I can’t remember much. There was just a lady.”

“A lady?”

“Yes. She had green eyes and blonde hair.” He couldn’t remember what her dress looked like, or if she’d been wearing a dress at all. “Her face was… mangled, for lack of a better word. That’s about all I remember.”

For several long seconds, Oswald was silent. The grip around his waist tightened.

Edward saw familiarity in Oswald’s expression.

“We should get you some sleeping aids so you can rest throughout the night.”

This was a suggestion Edward had already turned down numerous times. He sighed. “I really would rather not.”

“Please, Ed.” Oswald leaned his forehead to Edward’s. “ _I_ need to be able to sleep through the night, too. It’ll be better for both of us.”

“I’ll give them a trial run,” Edward conceded. “I guess it would be nice to be able to wake up normally.”

“Thank you, Ed.” He held Edward close, deftly tucking Edward against his shoulder. “Don’t spend too long dwelling on those dreams. They’re temporary, I’m sure. Give it time and they’ll eventually go away.”

“I hope so,” said Edward. 

* * *

 

Try as he might, Edward wasn’t able to banish the woman from his memory. Her bright green eyes and broad smile lingered in the recesses of his mind, presenting themselves when a sight or smell prompted him to recall his dream. Details came to him in a slow, halting manner. By noon, he remembered empty streets and the crash of waves and the high-pitched ringing of a telephone.

The telephone ringing, he soon realized, was the very same one heard throughout the Cobblepot Estate. At least he was able to identify the source of one of the things that appeared in his dreams, Edward thought. As reclusive as Edward had been throughout his life, he couldn’t recall an instance of having visited the sea and nor could he remember ever having been to the location at which the dream had taken place. It was somewhere with a bridge, with train tracks…

The mystery of it all reminded him that there was still a man out there that could give him answers. Hugo Strange, such a familiar name… while Oswald was otherwise occupied, he went looking for Hugo in publications archived at the public library and discovered he was the infamous former warden of Arkham Asylum, who was now imprisoned at Blackgate. Apparently Edward had been under his care at one point in his life. Looking at the man’s list of crimes, among which was patient abuse, he was glad he couldn’t remember what being in his care had been like.

Once he had the resources at his fingertips, he couldn’t prevent himself from reading about himself and his exploits. He’d been a forensic science some time ago. At some point, for an unspecified reason, he had murdered two people in cold blood and had then gone on to murder several more and attempt to frame a man by the name of Jim Gordon. Sometime later, he’d become Oswald’s chief of staff; this was something he already knew, but he still stared down at the photo of them riding in the back of a limousine together for a very long time.

By the time he’d finished reading, Edward was intrigued enough by what he’d read to resolve to see Hugo, if only to test the waters. He still wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to recall his history, and after what he had read about the man, he had reservations about what Dr. Strange’s methods might be. He knew it probably wouldn’t be beneficial for him to have those memories, knew the elucidation of what exactly had happened between himself and Oswald would likely end in the escalation of his self-loathing and guilt, but the desire to know coiled within him like something monstrous.


	4. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's done! I hope this is a satisfactory ending for everyone. I'd be grateful for feedback!

“You gonna be okay in there on your own?” asked Ignatius as he pulled into the Blackgate prison parking lot. Sitting in the back of the limousine, Edward bounced his heels nervously. “You’ve been looking about ready to faint since we left,” added Ignatius, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror.

Edward didn’t dare tell him he was doing this without Oswald’s permission. He knew how loyal Oswald’s men were to him. Or most of them were, in any case.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” he said, and winced at his obvious stammer. Not very convincing. “You don’t have to sit around, but I’ll probably only be about twenty minutes.”

“I’ll wait.” Ignatius slid out to open the passenger door. Edward had asked him many a time not to do that, but he let it pass on this occasion.

The tall grey building of Blackgate stretched far beyond the car park, disappearing into the mid-day winter’s smog that tended to persist on wetter days like today. Around its perimeter were several tall, metal fences topped with razor wire. The surrounding grounds had only a smattering of yellowing grass. The place and all of its surroundings were as dull as the bricks it was built from.

He waved to Ignatius before his departure, and lingered long enough to watch him wave back before he journeyed through to the visitors center. Though he knew none of the guards would arrest him while he was under Oswald’s protection, his heart still hammered in his chest as he stepped through the double doors to reception.

A woman smiled at him from the counter, seeming not to recognize him from the newspapers. The guards flanking her, however, narrowed their eyes in suspicion as he came creeping up from the front door.

“Uh, I’m here to see Hugo Strange. I submitted a visitor application two weeks ago.”

“Your name?”

“Arthur,” he said, awkwardly, raising his eyes to the guards just long enough to watch one of them slide a palm over the butt of their gun. “Arthur W-Wynne.”

“Funny name,” said the lady, smiling prettily at him. “I’ll need to see some ID before proceeding.”

Edward pulled out his wallet, withdrawing the fake ID Oswald had crafted for him some months prior for instances of out-of-state travel. He’d chosen the name himself. The woman glanced at it, typed something into her computer, and then beamed at him.

“You’re as clean as a whistle, Mr. Wynne!” She handed back his ID. “Before entering the security room, please remove any narcotics, cigarettes, alcohol, or any other prohibited items from your person. There’s a list on the wall if you don’t know what they are. You may leave them in one of the lockers to your right so you can pick them up on your way out, if you like.”

He didn’t need to look up at the list before answering. The only things he had on him were his clothes. “I don’t have any of those.”

“Alright, and do you consent to a brief security search? Provided you have nothing of concern on you, it’s generally quick and non-invasive.”

“That sounds fine.”

“Good.” She gestured over her shoulder, at a block of metal that served as a door. “Go straight through. Visiting hours start in twenty minutes.”

He nodded to her in thanks, avoiding the eyes of the guards as he hurried his way through the metal door, pushing it open with a shoulder. It shut behind him with a loud thud.

With his wallet already in hand and little else to speak of on his person, getting through security only took a few minutes. They had him step through a metal detector and spread his limbs for a quick pat down, after which he was permitted to enter the visiting room. There were already several people waiting. Some raised their heads as he entered, watching him walk through to a table on the outskirts and take a seat. He wanted to make himself easy for Strange to find.

The minutes passed slowly. He checked his watch every couple of seconds, eager to get this visit over and done with. He was fearful Oswald would find out what he was doing if he didn’t return soon.

Finally, the inmates started to file in. He leaned back in his seat to watch them enter the room one after the other, chains hanging off their wrists and ankles. It wasn’t until the line reached the back that Hugo Strange came into view and made a bee-line for him.

He sat heavily across from Edward. The bags under his eyes spoke of very long, hard nights.

“Mr. Nygma.” He curled a lip at Edward. “You’re the ‘Arthur Wynne’ I’ve been expecting, are you?”

“Fake identity,” he admitted. “My real name has a few too many negative associations.”

“Indeed it does.” Hugo offered him a faint smile. “What brings you here?”

“I need help with something.”

“What kind of help?”

“The mental health kind.”

“My specialty,” he said slowly.  Hugo considered him at length. “But you’re aware I don’t work for free, aren’t you? And I’m certainly not going to do a consultation _here_.”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to,” said Edward. “I’ve already thought up a way to get you out.” The moment he had conceived of this plan, he’d known he would have to spring Hugo at some point. Currently, his plan worked towards doing that legally. Or at least, without the need of anything beyond intimidation tactics.

“Already? I’m impressed, Edward.”

Edward shrugged. “I wouldn’t get too excited. I don’t know whether or not I want to go through with this yet.”

“What exactly is it you want to ‘go through’?” asked Hugo, now sounding curious.

“Getting rid of my amnesia.”

Hugo’s eyebrows rose in shock. “I will admit, that’s not the answer I expected. This treatment is for yourself, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” He leaned back in his seat, chains clinking together as he moved. “How much are you forgetting?”

“About eight years,” Edward answered. “Give or take.”

“Oh my, that’s quite a lot,” murmured Strange. “You must have been very confused for a while there.”

Edward nodded.

“Well, not to worry,” continued Hugo with an toothy smile that bordered on unsettling. Edward didn’t like how _predatory_ it looked. “I have numerous techniques that enable me to access the unconscious mind, and I believe Oswald even has an old device of mine stored away somewhere that we could utilize. I can help you, provided you manage to get me out of here.”

Edward hesitated. “ _If_ I decide to go through with this, I do have _conditions_.”

“Such as?” asked Hugo.

“You aren’t to go near Oswald. _Ever_.” His tone left no room for argument. This was a condition he would not budge on, no matter what. “And you aren’t to mention the therapy you give me to anyone, least of all anyone Oswald associates with.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ve no interest in meddling in your life beyond giving you the treatment you _earn_. I’ve already had one unpleasant encounter with Oswald, and I have no intention of repeating it.”

“I want to hear you promise,” Edward demanded, like a child offering their pinkie.

“Very well, Edward,” said Strange. “I promise.”

“Good.” It wasn’t much, but for the moment, Edward was reassured enough to proceed. “Do you have any conditions of your own?” he asked.

“Only that you free me from here, and that it’s not _temporary_.”

“It won’t be,” Edward promised. “You wouldn’t be free _immediately_ , but you would have more freedom than you currently have in here.”

In three weeks Hugo was due for a hearing, and with a little persuasion the judge could be made to find him an appropriate candidate for house arrest. While it wasn’t ideal – for Hugo, at least – it would enable Edward to have him do what he needed.

Edward drew his elbows off the table, getting ready to leave. “During your next hearing, I’m prepared to have you released into house arrest. The house in question would be one of Oswald’s safe houses, but you could leave at your leisure to live somewhere else. We’d only need that house for as long as the treatment goes.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“I’ve had a lot of free time to think these past few weeks,” he admitted. “It’s coming to me a little more naturally than I’d like, to be honest. The muscle memory must still there.”

“It’s going to come to you a lot _faster_ after you recover your memories,” Hugo informed him.

Anxiety returned with a vengeance. Edward bounced his feet. “I-I haven’t decided if I want to do this yet; I still need a little more time to think, but even if I do go through with it, I’ve had a different life for over a year now, so it’s not going to just… _smother_ everything.”

Seeming to realize he was jeopardizing his own escape, Hugo dropped the subject of Edward’s memories immediately. “No, of course not,” he said, voice soft and placating. “In the meantime, would you be able to do something for me?”

The thudding of Edward’s heels on cement slowed. “What?”

“I’d like you to see if you can find a headset among Oswald’s possessions. You’ll recognize it when you see it.”

“Are you sure?”

“It would be incredibly difficult to overlook, being what it is.”

“I’ll have a look around storage,” Edward promised him. He’d only visited Oswald’s storage sheds a handful of times, usually to tuck away anything he was no longer interested in using, but he could rely on Ignatius to get him there and inside. Fortunately, the man had yet to question a single order Edward had given him, and Edward suspected he was doing that by Oswald’s request. It made him guilty to think that he was only having any degree of success with his clandestine meetings because Oswald trusted him enough not to take advantage of his generosity.

The aching need for answers reminded him that it would all be worthwhile, in the end.

“See that you do,” said Hugo, and he rose from his seat before Edward could do it first, heading back in the direction he’d come.

Edward spent a few moments gathering himself before he too departed the table. Ignatius was still waiting for him in the parking lot when he stepped outside. He slid into the back seat of the vehicle and tucked himself into a corner, watching Blackgate recede from view as they peeled away.

“Did you get what you came for?” asked Ignatius conversationally.

“Kind of,” said Edward. He still wasn’t sure how everything would pan out. “Take me to the estate, Ignatius. I need some rest.”

 

* * *

 

 

Strange had been right about the headset being ‘impossible to miss’. He’d never seen anything quite like it. While standing in Oswald’s third storage room, he sat it upon his head, felt its bulky weight bear down on his skull and the straps flick into his skin. Not a pleasant feeling. A little claustrophobic, actually. He’d decided by now to go through with receiving treatment from Hugo, but he wasn’t looking forward to finding out what exactly this thing did.

The suitcase it came with contained all sorts of knobs and buttons Edward didn’t understand the function of. He gave a few a flick at the knobs, just to see what would happen, but the headset remained static. He could probably figure out how it worked before the week was out… but he decided he wouldn’t waste his time. Either way, it was going on his head, and it would be used on him. He had no choice in the matter if he wanted to recover his memories.

Edward shoved the headset and suitcase into a pillowcase and carried them back to the car. Ignatius didn’t ask what he’d grabbed. Edward was grateful for that.

He stowed it away in his Iceberg Lounge bedroom wardrobe, where he knew neither the cleaners nor Oswald would look.

“Zsasz,” he spoke into his phone, sitting with his back to the wardrobe, knees curled to his chest. He looked the part of someone hiding a secret. “Did the judge agree to the terms yet?”

“Took a little persuasion, but yeah, he’s agreed.”

Edward nervously swiped his tongue across his bottom lip. “Is the man okay?”

“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay. Okay, good.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I did it,” said Edward the next time he visited Hugo. “I found the headset.” There was only one week away until Hugo’s hearing and everything needed to make his plan run smoothly was in place.

Hopefully Oswald would never find out he was using his resources in this manner. From what he’d read, Oswald was among the patients to have been mistreated by Hugo, and he didn’t expect Oswald to respond well to the discovery of Hugo’s freedom. All going well, this would be a private affair and he could go back to living life as normal immediately after, but without the nightmares and the urgent, nagging desire for answers.

“Have you decided, then?”

“I’m going to do it.”

“Good.” Hugo folded his chained hands upon the table. “You’re doing the right thing, Edward. Eight years is a _grievous_ loss.”

“I just- I just want to know, that’s all,” mumbled Edward. “My year with Oswald has more than made up for it.”

Hugo appeared amused. “He must be quite the host.”

“He is. He’s very generous and nice.”

“Not something I would associate with Oswald, but I suppose you would know him better, having been in his care for a year.”

Edward smiled wistfully. “I know him extremely well, and he knows me. When I recover my memories, I’ll know him even better.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Hugo, chuckling.

 

* * *

 

 

The day came that Hugo was released into house arrest. Edward sat waiting in the safe house, fidgeting and rocking from foot to foot, nervous energy compelling him to move.

He’d never done anything like this before. He didn’t know if it would work, or if he’d hidden his tracks well enough. He kept on envisioning Oswald coming through the front door instead of Hugo with a frenzied look upon his face, his hand fisted around a vial of Fries’ icy concoction. He didn’t want to go back into the ice, but Edward couldn’t deny that Oswald would be justified in forcing him back into the role of lounge centerpiece if he uncovered what Edward had been doing. After everything Oswald had done for him, he was betraying the man’s trust, all for the sake of a few answers. Now that he was so close to reaching the climax of his plan, the shame was almost unbearable, a hot, squirming thing inside of him.

Oswald had been so good to him, and this was how he re-payed him.

He was practically bouncing off the walls by the time the front door creaked open. Hugo came striding inside, standing tall despite being a good foot shorter than Edward.

“Edward,” he said in greeting.

Edward was too tense to offer anything more than a stilted ‘hi’ in return.

Hugo’s gaze dropped to the headset and suitcase Edward had placed upon the kitchen counter. “Did you bring the straps?” he asked. “We can’t do this without the straps.”

“Oh, yeah, I did.” He picked one up to show Hugo. “But why? Am I in danger of hurting myself?”

Hugo merely smiled, providing no answer. His ankle bracelet gave his every other step a thudding quality as he approached Edward. He gestured for Edward to take a seat in a kitchen chair. Oswald must have taught him well, because Edward obliged the silent order without even thinking about it.

“We can begin immediately, if you feel you’re ready.”

“How long will it take?” asked Edward, watching Hugo retrieve four thick leather straps from the counter. They looked a little worn on the inside. “I need to be back at the estate before noon.”

“Result in patients usually present themselves within a few hours. You shouldn’t need to be here any longer than that.”

“Okay.” Edward took deep, steadying breaths while Hugo looped the straps around his wrists and ankles, securing them to the seat. To submit to something like this voluntarily was hard, but it would have been considerably harder had Oswald not chipped away at his autonomy over the past year. Submission came more naturally to him than opposition these days.

“Open,” instructed Hugo, pressing something long and wooden to his lips. He parted them and let the slip of wood be pressed into the depths of his mouth, coming to settle at his first set of molars. As Hugo pulled the attached strap to the back of his head, the wood pulled painfully at the corners of his mouth.

He was starting to have some reservations.

Hugo checked that each strap was secure before bringing over the headset and sliding it over the top of his head. It obscured his vision, disabling his ability to follow what Hugo’s movements. He felt another strap being coiled around his neck and attached to the back of the chair, followed by cords being draped over his chest.

“Before we begin, is there anything you’d like to say?”

There were, in fact, numerous things Edward wanted to say, the primary of which was ‘I’m starting to have doubts’. Unfortunately, all he managed to vocalize were a few loud grunts and they weren’t distinguishable as words.

The sound of switches being flicked drew a fine sweat to his forehead. Were answers _really_ worth this?

“I’ll take that as a no,” said Hugo.

A knob clicked and Edward registered pain. It was impossibly, painfully hot, clamping over his skull and dragging down his body like strands of molten lava. His throat vibrated around a scream, but he couldn’t hear himself, couldn’t hear anything over the blood pounding through his skull. Hot saliva dripped down his jaw and he didn’t have the presence of mind to notice. All sensation was lost to him but the pain.

He screamed, and screamed, and a soft, cloying voice whispered to him.

“Look at me. _Look at me_.”

“Oh Edward, you spoil me.”

“You struggle to regain me when I'm lost. You struggle to obtain me. What am I?”

_Time_.

Edward _remembered_.

 

 

 

Oswald kept a gun in the bedside table. For a long time, Edward had been aware of this, but he’d never used the gun, nor had any desire to.

He stood in Oswald’s office now with its barrel in line with Oswald’s forehead. The man hadn’t had time to retrieve his own weapon, to react to Edward bursting in beyond straightening in his chair.

His white-knuckled hand shook violently around the handle and his pulse skittered in his throat. His fury was an almost palpable energy that crackled in the air, frenzied and electric. He could taste it on his tongue, feel it in his throat, and he hoped Oswald could, too, because Oswald deserved to choke on his ire before Edward sent a bullet into his brain.

Oswald had wrested his autonomy from him, his dignity, his very individuality. He’d crushed it all under the sole of his oxford loafers and re-arranged the pieces that remained until Edward had been rendered docile and obedient. Until he had become the perfect _lover_.

He’d always known Oswald had the capacity for great evil, but this – never something like this. He felt sick from the violation of it. He wanted to tear the memories out of him and burn them to ash. He wanted them _gone_.

“You took my mind from me,” he snarled, spittle flying. Oswald stood out of his seat with his hands raised. “You tore out everything made me _me_ and took everything that remained for _yourself_.”

“Edward,” Oswald began, but Edward interrupted him by shooting a bullet into his lovely blue carpet. Oswald stiffened. There would be guards here, soon, but Edward didn’t care; he wasn’t going to let Oswald live long enough to receive their assistance, and if they happened to kill him in retaliation, so be it. He didn’t mind dying in exchange for one last bloody victory.

“Don’t-“ He seethed. “ _Don’t_ try to explain yourself. You’re going to die. I’m going to kill you. This had been a long time coming.”

“Edward,” Oswald said again, and the bastard _moved_. Stepped around the desk, started to advance. A low, predatory growl hissed past Edward’s clenched teeth. He humoured the thought of ripping out Oswald’s jugular and deemed it too slow, too easy. He wanted Oswald to suffer before he died. Maybe he’d blow out his kneecaps first and make him beg.

“I’m going to kill you.” Oswald stepped closer. “I’m going to shoot you. I’ll leave your brain matter on your walls. I’ll take your body and dump it off the pier.”

Oswald winced at that. Hot, bloody fury made way for momentary satisfaction, and then swung back around when Oswald continued to stride closer, making short work of the space between them.

“You won’t shoot me,” said Oswald, and Edward scoffed.

“Isn’t that what you believed last time?”

Another wince, but Oswald was too close for him to feel anything but alarm. His resolve to stand his ground shattered at the increasing proximity and he stumbled back, attempting to step out of Oswald’s path. Oswald continued on doggedly.

“Stay where you are-“ he snarled, snapping his teeth and bearing his gums like an anxious animal. His hindbrain screamed at him, _danger, escape, **kill him**_. On the trigger, his finger twitched. “Don’t come near me!” he shouted. “I’ll shoot you- I’ll kill you- you’ll regret everything you did to me!“

Only a foots width between them, now. The barrel of the gun sat nuzzled against Oswald’s sternum.

“You won’t shoot me, Edward. You love me,” said Oswald softly. “And I love you.”

He almost dropped the gun in shock.

“I love you,” Oswald said again, and a horrific, overwhelming panic welled in Edward chest. He squeezed himself further into the corner, seeking an escape from the saccharine nightmare pushing further and further into his personal space. “I love you, Ed. You know I do, and you know you love me too.”

There was something twisted and misshapen within him, something Oswald and grown and cultivated. It manifested in snapshots of his life, visions of who he was and who he had been; cooking heart-shaped eggs for Isabella, clutching the amethyst Oswald bought him until it warmed in his palm. Stabbing Tom Dougherty, taking Oswald’s cock. Watching his parents fight from the staircase, laughing and joking with Oswald’s companions. Waking up alone in his loft, waking up with Oswald’s arms wrapped tight around him.

Edward wanted to scream in fury, in horror, in utter despair. He had Oswald exactly where he wanted him and his finger wouldn’t move. He knew he needed to end this, needed it to be over. He couldn’t stand another minute with the maelstrom Oswald had created razing up his insides, but he tried to press the trigger and his body refused to comply.

“You have my heart and I have yours,” said Oswald in a whisper. “Remember, Ed?”  

_Move, move, move_ , he pleaded with himself. _Move, move, move_.

His mantra died as Oswald pushed the gun aside and out of his hand, meeting no resistance. It went clattering to the floor.

Edward stared down at it in shock. All at once his determination and savage anger was rendered inutile. The foundations of the man he'd once been came crashing down and he was suddenly, horribly empty.

“No,” he whimpered. “No, no, no, no-“

“Shh.” Oswald slid his hands up into Edward’s hair and pulled him down, and Edward started to cry because everything was ruined and he would never be The Riddler; he’d never be anything anything more than what Oswald had shaped him into. His world had been meticulously disassembled and there was nothing left for Edward to scrabble towards for leverage, nothing that could wrench him out of Oswald’s talons.  

He cried openly while Oswald held him close. “Shh, Ed. It’s okay. It’s okay because I _love_ you. I’ll always love you.”

And Edward knew, with growing despair, that he loved Oswald too.


End file.
